


How A Hero Bleeds

by Aintzane411



Category: Static Shock
Genre: Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everything Hurts, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Past Suicide Attempt, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, These poor boys, Verbal Abuse, but it's a VERY slow burn relationship, he's ten times more of a dick than in canon, richie's gotta get his life in order before he starts dating his bestie, richie/virgil endgame, slight au re Richie's dad, srsly Richie is having a terrible time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:45:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 37,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2493224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aintzane411/pseuds/Aintzane411
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie has been self harming for years. And when Virgil finds out that his best friend is hurting, he will go to any lengths to help him. Warning: Major trigger warning for self harm. Slight AU regarding Richie's father. Previously published on ff.net as "Richie's Release."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Warnings: Self harm, abuse, homophobia, use of a homophobic slur

Three distinct voices could be heard in the Foley residence on a dreary day in November. The wind was loud, but not quite loud enough to drown out the yelling and screaming that made the windows rattle. This, however, was a common occurrence. When the family of three first moved in years ago, the neighbors would worry about the yelling; often to the point of calling the police. But now, after ten long years, no one bothers to give it a second thought.

The loudest voice belonged to a Mr. Sean Foley. His booming bass was the main cause of the rattling windows. When he shouted, you could almost picture his red face leaning in towards you, teeth bared and eyes wild.

The quietest voice was that of Mrs. Maggie Foley. Her voice was high and trilling, often perching on the edge of hysteria. The soprano notes didn’t chime in a lot, but when they did, they were full of desperation.

The third voice was the one that hit listeners the hardest. It belonged to Richard Foley, the seventeen-year-old son of Sean and Maggie. Richie had a medium, baritone voice; not the deep, throaty voice of his father, yet not as high as his mother either. There was an abnormal amount of pain and anger dispersed through his vowels and consonants.

“Dad!” cried Richie, “If you would just listen to me, then–”

Sean interrupted his son. “No!” he shouted, as he stomped up the stairs towards Richie’s room. The blond teen trailed behind, his face stained with tears and red with anger. “This is simply unacceptable!” Sean threw open his son’s bedroom door and grabbed the suitcase from the bottom of the closet. “I simply will not put up with having a– someone like you in my house!” He threw the suitcase onto Richie’s bed and roughly began throwing clothes and belongings into it. “I thought it was a phase. You were supposed to grow out of this nonsense!”

Richie was dumbfounded. His dad had threatened to kick him out before, but had never acted upon it. “You bastard!” he shouted, barely restraining himself from launching towards the large man. “You can’t fucking do this to me! I’m your son!” A sniffle from behind him caught Richie’s attention. He turned to see his mother standing with puffy eyes.

“Please,” he begged her. “Tell him to let me stay.” Richie grabbed a hold of her hand and clutched it as if his life depended on it. Which, in some way, it did. “Tell him, mom. I’m your son. You can’t let him throw me out!” Mrs. Foley closed her eyes as tears poured down her face. Sean shouted from the bedroom. “No, Maggie! Go to our room. I’ll deal with this selfish, ungrateful piece of shit.”

Richie felt his face light up again. He clenched his shaking hands into fists, but didn’t turn to face his so-called father. “Mom,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “Please, you have to trust me.” He grabbed her hands. “Believe in me, that’s all I ask, and things will be okay.”

Maggie choked back a sob and pulled her hands away to press a tissue to her lips. Instead of standing up for her son, she slowly retreated to the master bedroom. Richie didn’t let himself watch her abandon him. Instead, he stormed into his room and pushed his dad out of the way. He ducked to avoid the anticipated blow aimed for his jaw and grabbed a handful of clothes from his dresser. In one motion, he zipped the suitcase and snatched it up.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sean bellowed.

“I’m leaving!” _Ignore him,_ thought Richie. _Just get out. Don’t provoke him._ Richie took the stairs two at a time, his dad close behind him.

When they reached the bottom, Sean pushed his son towards the door. “Damn right you’re leaving, you mother fucking _faggot!”_

Time seemed to lose meaning. Richie could hardly believe his ears. Or maybe he could. This was his racist, homophobic father, after all. His suitcase fell forgotten from his fingers. There was a buzzing in his head and his entire body was shaking with rage. With two quick steps, Richie closed the gap between them, pulled his fist back, and landed a solid punch to the man’s face. While Sean was still in shock that this boy had actually dared to hit him, Richie grabbed his father by the collar and pulled him close enough to see his own reflection in the twisted eyes staring back at him.

“Don’t ever,” said Richie, his voice laced with poison, “ _ever_ call me a faggot.”

Richie roughly let go of Sean and turned to pick up the suitcase. He heard his dad speak from behind him. “Get out of my house.” The words were icy cold. “Get out and never come back.”

“Don’t worry, Dad,” he spat out the name as if it tasted bad in his mouth. “You’ll never see me again.”

“Don’t you _dare_ call me ‘Dad.’” Richie glanced over his shoulder to meet Sean’s eyes. “You are no son of mine.”

The two held each other’s gaze for a moment longer before Richie saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced up to see his mother standing at the top of the stairs. She opened her mouth, as if she was going to say something. Richie’s heart lifted. _She’s going to stand up for me,_ he thought. _She’s going to kick_ him _out, instead of me._

But he’s wrong. She closed her mouth and dabbed a tissue at her eyes. Richie turned back towards the door. “Goodbye, Mom,” he whispered, before turning the knob and stepping out into the cold, dark night.

* * *

Twenty minutes later found Richie at the Gas Station of Solitude. He knew that he could call Virgil and head to the Hawkins’ house, but he also knew he had to cool down first. The walk across town had helped a little, but he wasn't near ready enough to see V, let alone talk to him about what had happened.

Richie unlocked the door and stormed inside. He flicked the lights on and abandoned his suitcase by the door before beginning to pace back and forth in front of the ratty old couch the duo had snatched from the dump. His mind was so cluttered with thoughts that he could barely function. Even on a normal day, it was hard to sort out the regular thoughts from inventing and formulas and calculus and engineering, but take all that and add in tonight’s little fiasco, and the boy’s head was close to exploding.

“That bastard,” he said softly. “I can’t believe that fucking bastard kicked me out.” His pacing increased in speed as his voice grew louder. His fingers made their way to his hair and began to tug. “I can’t believe I fucking told him. I can’t believe I fucking _trusted him!”_ Overwhelmed with emotion, Richie spun to face the wall and began punching it. Fist after fist landed on the concrete wall, which was quickly spattered with blood.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stop. All his mutated brain could hold on to was the pain in his knuckles. That was the only thing keeping him grounded. Pull back. Thrust forward. Knuckles hit wall. Blood seeps. Repeat. And repeat again. The rhythm began to soothe him, along with the constant throbbing in his hands.

Eventually, Richie’s muscles began to give out. His body was both mentally and physically exhausted. The distressed teen wrenched his attention from the wall and sank down on the couch next to him. He was breathing heavily and his heart was racing from the exertion.

Richie’s body began to shake. He was slowly descending into a full-blown panic attack. He hadn’t had one in years, but Richie was all too familiar with the tightness enveloping his chest and the claustrophobia that seemed to make the walls close in around him.

_Fuck,_ he thought. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ In an instant, Richie felt like he was thirteen years old again, having a stupid panic attack over something that could be logically thought out. But instead of cooperating, his brain decided to abandon all hope on logic and let some whackjob by the name of Emotion run the show. Richie’s eyes began to dart around the room. He knew exactly what he had to do to make the panic attack stop.

Richie flung himself off of the couch and stumbled to his desk. Kneeling in front of the built-in drawers, his still-sore hand groped around in the back off the bottom drawer. His fingers wrapped around a small box and pulled it out of its hiding place.

With shaking hands and a wild look in his eyes, Richie tore the lid off and gently picked up the gleaming metal object inside before discarding the box. He pushed the sleeve of his green and orange hoodie up and laid the razor blade against the skin on his left forearm. He pressed down and let out a sharp gasp as he dragged it across his skin. Beautiful red bloomed slowly from the cut. All it took was a quick flick of the wrist.

After a few minutes, Richie had added eleven new cuts to his already mangled and scarred arm. He let the blade fall from his fingertips as he leaned back against the desk. With a sigh of contentment, Richie looked down to examine his arm. There was a good amount of blood, but that could wait a few minutes. He needed to enjoy this calmness he felt while he could.

With a bang, the gas station door flew open, and in flew none other than Static himself. Panicked, Richie tugged his sleeve down over his bloodied arm and stuffed his razor in his pocket. He had totally forgotten that Virgil was out doing patrols right now and was bound to return to the gas station before heading home.

“What up, Rich?” asked Virgil as he removed his mask and stepped down from his hoverdisc. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Richie put on a fake smile, hoping his panic wasn’t completely visible on his face.

“Ah, n-nothing’s up, V,” he stammered. He stood from his seat on the floor, but became lightheaded and swayed on the spot. Virgil grabbed Richie’s left arm to steady him, causing Richie to flinch in pain. “I’m fine,” he said, “Let go of me.” Virgil complied, but gasped when his hands came away bloody.

“Richie, you’re bleeding!” Virgil cried. Richie looked down and, sure enough, his cuts had bled through his sweater.

“It’s nothing,” he said, starting to head to the bathroom to clean up. “Just some old–”

Virgil interrupted him by pulling his sleeve up. Richie snatched his arm away, but not before the superhero saw the slashes across his skin. Richie tried to leave the room, but Virgil grabbed his shoulders and spun him around so they were face to face.

“Richie,” he said somberly. “Did you… Did you do this to yourself?” After a moment, Richie nodded. Virgil deserved to know the truth. They were both silent for a second, but Virgil didn’t let go of Richie’s shoulders. “Come on,” he said softly, gently steering Richie towards the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Talk of self harm, talk of suicide

Virgil quickly led Richie into the gas station’s bathroom and instructed him to sit on the closed toilet lid before digging under the sink for medical supplies. He knew that the cuts weren’t deep from the quick glance he had gotten, but it seemed like Richie must have nicked an artery or vein because there was just so much blood! As he turned back towards Richie, Virgil willed his hands – which were still clad in Static’s superhero gloves – to stop shaking.

“Let me see your arm,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. Richie reluctantly complied, but turned his face away so that he didn’t have to see the emotions fly through Virgil’s face. His cheeks grew red with embarrassment and shame as he waited for Virgil’s reaction.

When Virgil was able to take a good look at Richie’s arm, he inhaled sharply, shocked to see how mangled it was. There was blood covering the pale skin, but when Virgil wiped the red away, he could see dozens of lines, both angry red and healing pink, criss-crossing the fragile tissue. He couldn’t look for too long, however, as the cuts began to bleed in earnest once more.

Virgil worked quickly to clean and wrap his friend’s arm in soft, sterile gauze before doing the same to his swollen and raw knuckles. Richie sat quietly as Virgil worked. The two didn’t speak, both lost in their own thoughts, but that didn’t stop Richie from noticing the care and tenderness in the light touch of Virgil’s fingers. By the time he had finished, Richie knew that his friend had done a better job of patching him up than he had ever done on his own.

There was something different about having someone take care of him like this. Cutting had always been something Richie had kept to himself. No one had ever even suspected him of self harm. But he had to admit, it was nice to be able to relax and not have to worry about bloodstains or trying to dress his wounds one-handed. Instead he could just sit back and let the throbbing in his arm calm his anxiety about Virgil finding him.

When his arm was finally encased in bandages and the rest of the supplies had been put away, Virgil motioned for the two of them to return to the main room. Richie sat on the couch and waited patiently as Virgil changed into his street clothes. Once the Static persona was gone, both teens began to feel nervous about the topic they had to address.

Virgil sat next to the blond teen and cleared his throat. “Richie,” he started, but paused, not knowing how to continue. He sighed. “Why did you do this, Rich? What made you resort to – to cutting?” He said the last word slowly, as if it felt unfamiliar in his mouth. When Richie didn’t respond, Virgil continued. “Okay, well, will you tell me how long it’s been happening?”

“Three years,” mumbled Richie after a beat. Virgil’s eyes grew wide and he raised a hand to massage his temple.

“Three… years…” he whispered in disbelief. “Jesus, Richie, that long? Does anyone know?”

“No. Only you.”

Virgil’s mind reeled. How was he supposed to handle this? What was he supposed to do with this information? He was trying to figure out his next step when a frightening question came into his mind.

“You weren’t… You weren’t trying to kill yourself… Right?”

Richie hesitated. “Not this time.”

There was silence for a few seconds, but then Virgil stood abruptly. “Give me your blades,” he said, holding out a shaky hand. “All of them. There must be more than just the one.” When Richie just stared up at him in shock, Virgil added, “I mean it, Rich.” Still no response. Virgil leaned down and slipped the razor out of Richie’s pocket. “It’s for your own good.”

Virgil turned his face away from his best friend in order to hide the tears forming in his eyes. “Now, tell me where the rest are.”

Richie felt his heart skip a beat. He couldn’t tell Virgil where they were hidden. What if he needed them? Oh, who was he kidding, of course he was going to need them sooner or later. He didn’t know when, but he did know that he simply could not reveal the locations of the objects hidden in the headquarters.

“Richie,” Virgil’s stern voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Tell me. Where are they?”

Richie averted his eyes and tried to cross his arms, but had to give up due to the discomfort it caused in his wounds. “What if I don’t want to tell you?”

“That’s an easy one.” The superhero’s hands began to glow purple. “Then I can just attract every metal object in this building to me and throw out anything that looks even remotely suspicious.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Even if it’s one of your electronic things.”

Richie felt tears start to well in his eyes, not so much at what Virgil said about his electronics, but about the possibility of losing his one lifeline that had been the only thing to keep him grounded for so many years. “Please, V,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Don’t take them. They’re all I have left.”

As soon as the words left Richie’s mouth, Virgil felt his heart shatter into pieces. He was speechless. What had happened that had caused is best friend to feel so worthless? How could he have not seen this coming?

“You have me,” Virgil said softly, letting the purple glow around his hands slowly fade away. Richie looked up at him, his eyes shining with tears. “You’re my best friend, Rich. Those blades aren’t the only thing you have. You have _me_ , and I promise that I will _never_ leave.”

There was a short moment of silence as the boys thought about what was said. Richie then took a deep breath to steel himself, wiped his eyes, and stood from the couch. He walked to his suitcase that had remained forgotten by the door and pulled out a plastic baggie with various razors and blades in it. With shaking hands, he walked the tools over to Virgil and placed them in his outstretched hands.

“Thanks, Virgil.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Richie is Gear in this 'verse, and has simply designed himself a costume with long sleeves.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Talk of self harm

The two boys stayed in the Gas Station of Solitude for a little while longer as Richie reluctantly gave Virgil all of his tools. Virgil was shocked when he saw that they weren’t all straight razor blades like he expected. There was a pocket knife that had been hidden in the back of a cabinet, a serrated kitchen knife that had been under a floorboard, a ring box full of what looked like pencil sharpener blades that was under a couch cushion, and a screw that was actually in the wall. A few of the items still had dried blood on them. Virgil tried not to look too long at those ones; tried to not think of it as his best friend’s life force staining the dull metal.

When they were finished at the headquarters, they grabbed their things and began the short walk to the Hawkins’ residence. As they walked, Richie told Virgil about what had happened at his house in the past hours. Virgil tried hard not to interrupt, but what Sean had said and done to Richie was too much for him to bear.

“Richie,” he began. “You know we’re gonna have to tell Pops, right? There’s no way we can keep all of this from him.”

Richie paled dramatically. “Please, Virg, don’t tell him,” he begged. “It’s been a bad enough day as it is, can’t it wait till tomorrow?” Just… Just tell him that I’m spending the night like I always do. Just please don’t make me!”

Virgil put a hand on Richie’s shoulder to try and calm him, as his breathing had sped up and he was starting to panic at the thought of telling Mr. Hawkins. His gut tightened when he saw how much he had upset his friend. “Okay, Rich, we’ll wait till tomorrow. But you’re going to have to promise me something.” He stopped walking and turned to face Richie. “After dinner, we’re going to go up to my room, close the door, and we’re going to talk. I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to answer them. If you have questions, you ask and I’ll answer. No more clamming up like you did today at the gas station.” Richie’s eyes grew distant and worried. “Promise me, Rich.”

“I… I promise.”

“Good.”

The two continued walking and within a few minutes were standing at the front door of the house they had practically grown up in together. Before entering, they both took a moment to take a few deep breaths and plaster a fake smile on their faces.

* * *

“So, Richie, we’ve been talking about Virgil for the whole meal. How have you been doing?” The Hawkins family was seated around the table, talking about various things, when Robert turned his attention to the very familiar visitor.

Richie swallowed nervously. Now that his secret was out, everything felt so much more fragile and scary, as if his world could come crashing down around him at any second. “Um, I’m all right,” he said softly, trying to sound indifferent.

“Everything at school going well? Not that we need to worry about your grades or anything.”

“Yes, sir. Everything’s fine.” Richie reached across the table to serve himself some more mashed potatoes, hoping that more food on his plate would keep his mouth too busy to answer questions. He jerked his hand back, however, when his sleeve crept up to expose a sliver of slightly bloodied bandage.

Sharon gasped lightly. “Richie, what happened to your arm?”

“It’s – it’s nothing,” he stammered. “Just happened on patrol the other day. Nothing major, I promise.” He prayed that his ears weren’t as bright red as they felt and turned his attention back to his food.

The family returned to eating and idly chatting, but Virgil closely watched Richie out of the corner of his eye. For the duration of the meal, the normally calm and collected boy genius could hardly keep his hands from shaking long enough to ferry a bite of food to his mouth, which worried Virgil. He also worried about how fast the lie had left Richie’s lips about what had happened. He wondered how many times he had been on the receiving end of one of Richie’s well-practiced excuses.

* * *

 

“All right, Rich.” The two boys were seated on Virgil’s bed, cross-legged and facing each other. After dinner, they had gone straight to the upstairs bathroom where Richie’s bandages were changed before heading into the bedroom. “So, how about we take turns? I’ll ask a question, then you, then me, and so on… That sound good?”

Richie nodded. “And if I don’t want to answer?” he asked skeptically.

Virgil sighed. “You don’t have to, but then I get an extra question.” Richie nodded again. “Okay, then. I’ll start.” He took a deep breath and prepared to dive into what he expected to be one of the hardest conversations he’d ever had in his life. “Why did you do it? You never answered me before.”

“Why did I do it today, or why did I start?”

“Both, I guess…”

There was a pause before Richie answered. “Today was because of my dad, of course. I started to have a panic attack and it’s the only thing that helps.”

Virgil inhaled sharply. He didn’t know about any panic attacks.

Richie continued. “I started because…” he thought for a moment and looked down at his lap. “Well, I don’t really remember why I started anymore… It feels like so long ago…” he trailed off before asking his question, eyes still downcast. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

Virgil didn’t know how many times his heart could stand to be broken. Richie looked so hopeless and lost. It was dramatically different from the strong, happy boy that Virgil had been friends with for years.

“God, no, Richie!” he exclaimed. “Sure, it’s a little hard for me to understand, but I could never think you were crazy!” Richie relaxed slightly, but Virgil saw him bumping the inside of his wrist against his left knee. “Do you… Do you feel like cutting right now?”

Richie’s face reddened slightly and he made an effort to look anywhere except Virgil. “No comment,” he said, but from his body language, it was plain that the answer was a resounding ‘yes.’ Remembering the rules, Virgil was about to ask another question, but was interrupted by Richie. “Are you going to make me stop?”

“I’d like it if you would… But I guess I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to.” A pause. “Do you want to stop?”

“I… I don’t know.” Richie took a moment to think of another question, and when he did, he raised his gaze to Virgil’s eyes. “Why haven’t you freaked out yet?”

The superhero cocked one eyebrow and gave a halfhearted smile. “Am I really hiding it that well? Because I’m kind of freaking out a little on the inside.”

The change in Richie’s demeanor was instantaneous. His shoulders slumped and he seemed to curl into himself. His eyes darkened and he unconsciously pulled his sleeves down past his hands. Virgil quickly realized that he had said exactly the wrong thing.

“Richie, it’s okay for me to be a little freaked out, isn’t it?” He suddenly remembered Richie’s first question and realized what was bothering his friend. “Rich, I told you, I don’t think you’re crazy.” He scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Richie’s shoulders. “Like I said, I don’t really understand it, but we’ll figure it out, okay?”

After a minute or so of silence, Richie spoke up. “It’s your turn to ask a question, V.”

“Oh, right.” Virgil hesitated, the question on the tip of his tongue, wondering if he was about to step too far. “Does it really work?” he whispered.

“Like magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll finish posting the chapters from ff.net tomorrow. I want to go through and proofread them and I don't have the time right now. Hopefully 3 chapters is enough to get people to want to read more! I've got 20 written so far, with more to come. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I guess I really am a master procrastinator when I put off posting chapters that I already have written. I apologize for being actual 100% trash but anyways on with the story
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Talk of self harm, talk of abuse

Richie and Virgil continued their conversation late into the night, and then decided to head to bed early. They were both exhausted from the day and were looking forward to sleeping in during the weekend before Monday rolled around. Neither of them ended up sleeping well, however. Richie was plagued with nightmares and Virgil kept waking up whenever he heard his friend’s soft whimpers.

At some point in the night, Richie started to cry in his sleep, so Virgil quietly slipped out of bed and slid next to Richie on the futon that was bought specifically for the many sleepovers the boys had. Almost instantly, Richie’s tears slowed and he curled into Virgil’s chest. The superhero smiled and wrapped his arm protectively around Richie before drifting off to sleep.

A few hours after Virgil came to lay with him, however, Richie woke with a sudden jerk. He bit his lip to try to muffle the cry that threatened to wake the neighborhood, and was able to keep it in, save for a small moan. He looked around, confused as to why there was a figure next to him in bed and an arm wrapped around him. It took him a few seconds of panic before he realized that it was only Virgil.

A quick glance at the clock told Richie that it was 4:30 in the morning. Much too early to rise for the day, but the boy found himself as rigid as a board, unwilling to release himself to the nightmares that haunted his sleep. He wasn’t even sure if they could be classified as nightmares, really. None of them were really scary in a sense. Every single one revolved entirely around cutting. The stress of his best friend knowing his darkest secret and the impending doom of having to tell the man who was a second father to him was quickly becoming too much for Richie to handle.

He felt his breath start to quicken again. _Please, no,_ he thought. _No, not another panic attack. I can’t handle this!_ Richie gingerly slid out from under Virgil, who simply pulled his arm in and rolled over, muttering something about tap dancing guinea pigs. If Richie had been in the right state of mind, he would have burst into laughter, but all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears. He started to pace around the room, but, worried of waking Virgil with his footsteps, silently snuck out into the hallway.

Planning on splashing some water on his face, Richie entered the dim bathroom and shut the door behind him before turning on the light. He squinted at the harsh fluorescent glare and leaned down in front of the sink. His gaze was caught by the disposable shaving razor sitting on the counter.

Richie’s breath hitched. The glint of the metal was so familiar, so appealing. He reached out a quivering hand to feel the weight of the plastic and metal in his hand. Richie felt his knees start to wobble with a strange desire and anticipation, so he sat on the closed toilet lid, focused only on the object held in his palm. Before he realized what had happened, Richie found himself with his pajama sleeve rolled up, bandage discarded on the floor, and the shaver pressed to his wrist. He closed his eyes, eager for the relief he was about to feel, when an image popped into his min.

The expression on Virgil’s face when he found Richie the previous day. It wasn’t so much angry or disappointed as it was sad. All it took was a split second for Richie to understand that Virgil was sad he was in so much pain and just wanted to help. _I don’t deserve any help,_ thought Richie. _Virgil probably just feels sorry for you. He thinks you’re weak. Weak!_

He opened his eyes as tears began to gather yet again, but caught someone’s eye in the mirror. Richie started, instinctively jerking the razor away from his wrist to hide behind his back. But then he realized that the person he saw was himself. In awe, he heard the razor clatter to the floor as he dropped it in order to stand and step closer to the glass. He took a good look at himself and realized that he didn’t recognize this familiar stranger.

The boy standing opposite him had harsh features. His blond hair was limp and dingy, his skin pale; sallow. The blue eyes that once stared back at him with such life were now dark and full of pain. What had happened to the Richard Foley that had been so happy just mere years ago? Where had he run off to?

_Maybe somewhere where he doesn’t have anyone slashing at his skin._

Richie turned away from the wall and sunk down to the ground, somehow exhausted from the events of just the past two minutes. A flash of silver a foot away caught his eyes, but the boy couldn’t be bothered to reach for the utensil. _Suffer,_ he thought. _You don’t deserve the relief it brings. Just sit here and suck it up. You’re just some stupid teenager looking for attention, right? Be a man._

So he drew his legs to his chest, laid his head on his knees, and cried. He cried for the boy he used to be, the one who read comic books. The boy who loved going to the park with his best friend and making up games where they had superpowers. The boy who pretended he was invincible from anything and everything.

He cried for the pain he’d caused to Virgil. Virgil, who had always been there to support him. Virgil, who never left, even when Richie was sure he was going to. Virgil, who had encouraged him to tell his parents about his sexuality. Virgil, who had offered a listening ear countless times after fights between Richie and his dad.

He cried for the family he left behind that never loved him. The father, who was always looking for a perfect son. The father that tore at his own flesh and blood until there was nothing left. And the mother, who said nothing, even when her child was screaming in pain.

But mostly he cried for the person he’s become. This fucked-up teenager who was becoming a statistic. Just another gay kid who was depressed. Just another gay kid. Just another kid.

_I’m just a kid… Just a kid…_

And with the words echoing in his head, Richie curled up on the tile floor and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Suicide, talk of self harm

_“Gear!” Static’s voice cut through the air as he flew through the city of Dakota. He had been in the middle of a fight with Ebon and his gang when a not-so-distant gunshot reached his ears. Seemingly on instinct, he fled the fight and raced back to the gas station, where the shot originated._

_Within seconds, Virgil had landed in front of the headquarters. He reached for the door, but hesitated. Something was very, very wrong, but he couldn’t quite place what it was. Scenarios began to run through his head; a bang baby found the hideout, or a burglar got in, or something else entirely. Heart pounding, he took a deep breath and opened the door._

_Blood and other unidentifiable fluids stained the far wall, upon which Richie’s limp body was slumped. There was blood everywhere; dripping down the wall, pooling on the floor, and oozing from a gunshot wound on Richie’s temple. A bloodied note was clutched in his left hand and a handgun in his right._

_Static screamed and fell to his knees._

* * *

 

Virgil awoke with a cry and sat straight up in bed. Tears were running down his face and his heart was beating so fast that he thought he was going to have a heart attack. The dream had been so real, so lifelike. He could have sworn that he could smell the blood.

Virgil felt his stomach lurch at the thought and barely made it to the trash can before his dinner made its reappearance. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and crawled back under the covers on the futon. It was then that he realized that Richie was absent.

Confused, he sat up to check the time. At 5:15am on a Saturday, it was way too early for anyone to be up, let alone Richie, the king of sleeping until noon. After a moment, Virgil figured that Richie must have gone to the bathroom. He was about to go back to sleep when the image of his best friend’s brain matter sprayed on the wall forced him to rise and look around.

Being careful to avoid the squeaky spots in the floor, Virgil emerged from his room. The hallway was dark, save for a sliver of light coming from beneath the bathroom door. Virgil relaxed slightly, but couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of unease, so he walked up to the closed door. His actions felt eerily similar to the dream.

“Richie?” he asked as he knocked softly. “Rich, you in there?”

When no response came, he tried the knob. Locked. Virgil took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to stay calm, but all he could see behind his lids was Richie’s bloodied and broken body.

His eyes flew open and he began to knock louder and twist the knob simultaneously. “Richie, are yo in there?” His voice began to escalate as he pounded on the door. “Richie! Richie, answer me!”

He heard a door open behind him and his father’s voice saying, “Virgil, what in God’s name is going on here?” but the boy simply ignored him and continued with his banging. He heard another door behind him as he started to cry hysterically, unable to suppress the panic welling up inside him. Robert tried to restrain Virgil, who was banging on the door with both fists.

Sharon came up behind her father and brother. “Daddy, what’s happening? Why is Virgil crying? What’s wrong?”

With a click, the bathroom door unlocked and swung open to reveal a yawning Richie. Virgil shrugged his father’s hands off and yanked Richie’s sleeves up, to the shock and anger of his friend. Virgil ignored the two gasps from his family behind them when they saw Richie’s arm. Instead, he sighed in relief when he saw no new cuts, let Richie jerk his arm away, and let his shaking knees lower himself to the ground.

“Richie,” he said softly, “you’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay, Virg,” replied Richie sharply once he pulled his sleeves down. He was furious at Virgil for doing that in front of Sharon and Robert, but his mood quickly changed when he took a good look at Virgil’s face. “Though you don’t look so hot yourself right now.”

Virgil pulled his knees into his chest, much like the position Richie had been in earlier. “I thought… I thought you were dead.” With a sob, Virgil completely broke down. Richie just stood there, mouth open slightly in shock and confusion.

Robert stepped forward and knelt down to comfort his son, reminding the boys of his and Sharon’s presence. He pulled Virgil close and cleared his throat. “Sharon, go back to bed. I’ll talk to Richie and Virgil.”

Sharon looked as if she was going to protest, but after a few seconds, she turned on her heel and walked away. Once her door shut, the hallway was quiet, except for Virgil’s slowly quieting sobs. Robert looked up at Richie, who was still standing in the bathroom doorway, and instructed him to go downstairs and wait. “Virgil and I will be down in a few minutes.”

* * *

 

When Richie went downstairs, Robert stayed quiet for a minute or two, letting the last of Virgil’s tears escape. He was incredibly worried for his son. The last time he had seen the boy cry like this was when Jean had died so many years ago.

“Virgil,” he said softly as he brushed a dreadlock out of the teen’s face. “Are you all right?”

“No, it’s Richie we need to worry about.” He hiccupped. “Richie, he’s been–”

“I saw his arm, Virgil. But it’s you I’m asking about. How are you?”

“I’m fine, but Richie–”

“No. How are _you_?”

“I’m… I’m terrified.”

* * *

 

While Robert and Virgil were upstairs still, Richie paced back and forth in the kitchen. He honestly didn’t know what to think. Why did Virgil freak out so much? Why did he think Richie was dead? Most of all, why did he think it was anywhere remotely okay to pull his sleeves up in front of the others like that?

Once again, Richie felt the beginning stages of a panic attack set in, and he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance. Instead, he laid down on the floor, wincing a little bit at his stiff muscles, and tried some of the suggestions he had heard about.

He tried breathing deeply. No luck. He tried to “clear his mind.” No luck. He tried distracting himself with random trivia. No luck. He felt the attack escalating, and, desperate, he finally squeezed his eyes closed, put his hands to his ears, and began to hum loudly to drown out the buzzing in his brain.

The next thing he knew, Robert was there, kneeling beside him, stroking his head, and calling his name. Richie opened his eyes to see the kind face staring down at him. He let Robert gently take his wrists and guide his hands away from his ears.

“Come on, Richie,” Robert said as he helped the boy sit up. “Let’s talk.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Talk of self harm, talk of suicide

Robert, Virgil, and Richie sat quietly at the kitchen table. Virgil was antsy and kept fidgeting, images from his nightmare still playing beneath his eyelids every time he blinked. Whenever he glanced at Richie, his heart would give little twinges of guilt over the chaos he had caused upstairs.

Richie, on the other hand, sat very still. His face remained neutral, not revealing the tsunami of emotions he was feeling. Anger, worry, confusion, vulnerability. And that was just the tip of the iceberg inside the super genius’s head.

“All right, Richie,” Robert said, bringing both boys’ attention back to the matter at hand. “I’ve heard Virgil’s side of the story, and now I’d like to hear yours.”

Richie sighed, wishing he could just go back to sleep, this time in a decent bed, instead of the uncomfortable bathroom floor. “Listen, can we just do this tomorrow? I’m really tired and it’d be nice to just–”

“Just talk to him, Rich,” interrupted Virgil pleadingly. “He just wants to help.”

“Oh, right. Just like I’m sure _you_ wanted to help when you showed him and Sharon my arm!”

Virgil flinched at the sharp tone. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was wrong and I shouldn’t have done it. But I’m worried for you, Richie. I just dreamt that you… that you killed yourself, and if you don’t talk to someone, then…” his voice cracked with emotion, “Then I’m afraid that’s where you’ll be. Depressed and alone with a gun in your hand!”

Richie hoped that the tears beginning to well in his eyes weren’t noticeable. “What does it matter to you?” he spat, crossing his arms. He knew he was about to go way too far, but he was tired, angry, and beyond the point of caring. “If I went and killed myself, then you won’t have to worry about me anymore. You could sleep through the night without waking up. So maybe I will just kill myself, okay? Maybe it’s better for everyone.

“Besides,” Richie continued as he stood, his heart pounding and his hands beginning to shake. “I’m already on that path. You said so yourself. All it would take is just a sharper blade, or a deeper cut. Then precious Virgil won’t have to worry about a single thing, right? Right?!” Richie was pacing the floor, one hand tangled in his hair while the other bumped his wrist rhythmically against his thigh. He didn’t know why he was saying these horrible things, but he couldn’t stop. He could see the hurt written across Virgil’s face, and he hated to be the one that put it there.

Robert stood and tried to calm Richie down, but his words fell on deaf ears.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Virgil. What it’s like to be me. To be gay and laughed at, to be constantly taunted and tormented at school, to be shoved into lockers day in and day out, to have a father who continually tells me to that I should go kill myself, to be hurting so bad on the inside that physical pain is the only way to feel even remotely happy!” He laughed, but it was far from joyful. “Happy? I don’t even remember the last time I was happy. I’ve gotten pretty good at faking, haven’t I, Virgil?”

“Richie, that’s enough,” Robert said desperately. It was plain that Richie’s words were deeply affecting Virgil, and it was only a matter of time until one of them snapped. “Come sit down and we’ll talk this out calmly.”

“No!” Richie ducked under Robert’s outstretched arm to approach Virgil. “Do you wanna see my scars, _V-man?_ ” The name was spat with such venom that Virgil flinched, barely able to contain his quickly-building rage. He felt his fingertips crackling with uncontrollable electricity. Richie pulled up his sleeve and began to point to various wounds. “See that one?” he asked. “That was from when you never showed up for our big movie marathon. Remember, you blew me off for Daisy. And this? This was when they all called me your sidekick. Oh, and these ones are all from the fight we had when I was Push. And this one is from when you—”

His words were cut off by a punch to his mouth. Richie dropped to his knees, clutching his jaw, as Virgil stood up, fist sparking and crackling. Robert rushed to stand between the boys.

“That’s enough!” he bellowed forcefully. His eyes narrowed at Virgil until the boy reluctantly turned off his power. “What is the matter with you two? Virgil, you _know_ that I won’t tolerate violence from you, not while you’re out of costume. I know Richie’s words were upsetting you, but I raised you _better_ than that.”

He turned to Richie, who stood and wiped a small trickle of blood from the split lip Virgil gave him. “And you,” Robert said menacingly. “What you said was unacceptable. I know you’re upset, but that is no reason for you to lash out like that.” He sighed and his demeanor softened. “Richie, you’re like family to us here. You’re the brother Virgil never had. You’re my son. And it kills us – all of us – to see you in pain. Virgil is just worried.”

They were quiet for a minute, each alone with their own thoughts. Robert sat back down at the table and gestured for the boys to sit as well.

“Now. Let’s talk.”

* * *

 

After talking for what felt like hours, the grandfather clock in the living room chimed seven times. Throughout the discussion, Virgil and Richie were able to come to terms and forgive each other, and by 7am they were sitting side-by-side and yawning every 30 seconds.

Robert stood and told the boys to go upstairs and sleep. “I might head over to the center later,” he said, “but I’ll come in and say goodbye first, if you want?” They both nodded sleepily before heading off to bed. Robert sighed deeply and set about making a pot of coffee to get him through the day when he heard Sharon enter the kitchen.

“Daddy?” she asked softly. “Is… is everything all right?”

He turned to face her and was surprised at how much she looked like the little girl she once was. She was dressed in a light pink nightgown, covered by a soft, white bathrobe, and on her feet were fuzzy pink slippers. She stood in the doorway, worry lines etched into her forehead. He held out his arms and she rushed into them, feeling safe in her father’s embrace.

“Sharon,” he said when they parted. “I spoke with the boys and they said that it was all right for me to tell you what’s going on, but this information is not to leave this house, understand?” Sharon nodded. “You can’t even tell Adam. It’s not your secret to tell.”

“I promise,” she said solemnly. Robert pulled her over to the table and sat facing her.

“Richie has been cutting,” he said plainly, “which I assume you know from what you saw last night. What was news to me, however, was that he has been doing this for three years.” Sharon gasped lightly and Robert took her hands in his to comfort her. “There’s more. His father is homophobic and abusive, and kicked Richie out yesterday for being gay. So, Richie went to his and Virgil’s headquarters and – well, there’s really no easy way to say this – he cut himself. Virgil found him afterwards and bandaged him up.”

Sharon closed her eyes to keep from crying. “What about last night?” she asked. “Why was Virgil so upset? And why did I hear yelling afterwards?”

“I guess Richie had the urge to cut in the middle of the night. He was having a panic attack – also news to me – and went into the bathroom to try to calm down without waking Virgil.” He sighed again. “My shaving razor was, of course, sitting in plain view on the bathroom sink.”

Sharon inhaled sharply. “He didn’t… hurt himself, did he?”

“No. He said he talked himself out of it by saying he wasn’t worthy of feeling… the relief it caused. That he deserved to be in distress.”

Tears began to fall down Sharon’s face. “And Virgil? He knew Richie had the razor?”

Robert shook his head. “No. Virgil had a nightmare that Richie killed himself, so, naturally, he panicked when he realized that Richie had locked himself in the bathroom and wasn’t responding.”

With a shake of her head, Sharon sighed and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Wow. It’s no wonder he was so panicked. Anyone would have done the same thing. But what was up with the yelling when you guys went downstairs?”

“Richie was upset at Virgil for telling – showing, rather – you and me about his cutting before he was ready. They had planned on telling me today, which is what Richie had prepared himself for.”

They were quiet for a minute. “Sharon,” Robert said. “This is going to be a hard battle. I’m going to call Child Protective Services later today to report Sean Foley for child abuse. He had been hitting Richie quite often, along with all the emotional abuse that led to this outcome. Richie turns eighteen in a few months, but between now and then, his father could do a number of horrible things.”

He took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. “Richie also told me that he is suicidal.” Sharon gasped and Robert removed his glasses to massage his temples. “He said he’s attempted it six times, the most recent being a little over a month ago.”

A choked cry escaped Sharon’s lips. “B-but he always seemed so happy!” she exclaimed. “How could Richie have possibly managed to hide it from us?”

“He’s a super genius, remember?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Talk of self harm, potentially triggering description of blood, talk of child abuse

Robert Hawkins sat in the upstairs bedroom. The lights were off and the curtains drawn, giving the room a cold, dark feeling, despite it being 10am and sunny. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, and held a picture of his late wife in his hands.

“I don’t know what to do, Jean,” he said. “I’m a counselor. I’m supposed to be prepared for this. But Richie… he’s like a son to me. It feels so different than just another client. What do I _do_? It makes me so angry to know that Sean pushed his son to this. I can’t even comprehend how a parent could beat their child. I feel physically ill just thinking of laying a hand on our children in anger.”

He stroked his fingers over the glass. “I know exactly what you would do, Jean.” He smiled. “You’d call CPS, the police, even the FBI to protect that boy. Or any other child, for that matter. I can almost hear your voice saying, ‘It’s the right thing to do, Robert. I have to do the right thing.’ Always the right thing, Jean, right up until the very end.” He sighed.

“I guess I know what needs to be done, then. Thank you, honey.” Robert lifted himself off the bed and kissed the picture before setting it on the nightstand. His decision made, Robert made his way down the hall to tell the boys he was leaving, like he promised to do that morning.

When a light knock on Virgil’s door gave no reply besides snores, he gently pushed the door open. The sight that greeted him warmed his heart. The two boys were asleep on the bed with the futon lying forgotten on the floor. Virgil’s arm was wrapped loosely, yet protectively, around his best friend, and Richie’s head rested on Virgil’s chest. Robert smiled, glad that his son was there for Richie. He crept closer and reached out a hand to wake him when he paused.

Richie’s sleeve had been pushed up sometime during his nap, and his arm lay at an angle where Robert had a clear view of it in its entirety. It was the first time that he could calmly get a good look at the cuts. He could just barely see the layers of scars beneath the still-healing cuts from the previous day, which, he noticed, weren’t nearly as deep as a frantic Virgil had insisted they were. They were the cuts of a practiced hand.

“Virgil.” He gently stroked his son’s arm to wake him up. “Virgil, I’m going to the center. Sharon is at Adam’s house. Will you be all right here by yourselves?”

Virgil mumbled something along the lines of, “We’ll be fine, don’t worry,” and began to snore again. Robert smiled and quietly exited the room. He went downstairs to grab his jacket and car keys before leaving for his office, where he could call the authorities and start to deal with this mess of a situation.

* * *

At around 11am, Virgil woke to find himself alone yet again. His heart jumped in his chest for a split-second, but calmed when he saw a note lying on the pillow Richie had been using.

_V,_

_I know you’ll want to talk about everything some more, especially after last night,_

_but I don’t think I’m up for it today. If possible, I’d like it to just be a normal day._

_I’ll be downstairs, so come down when you’re awake and we’ll_

_make breakfast and pick some movies to watch._

_\- R._

Virgil sighed as he began to get dressed. He would obey Richie’s request of a normal day, but it would be hard to do. There were still so many questions he had; so many things he wanted to say. But he supposed that it could all wait for one day.

When he was ready, Virgil grabbed the note and went downstairs. He found Richie seated at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. When he looked up from the article, Virgil simply set the folded note on the table and nodded before plastering a smile on his face.

“Yo, Rich. What are you feelin’ for breakfast today?”

Richie smiled, grateful that Virgil was respecting his wishes, and stood. “I was thinking pancakes, bro. Sound good?”

The duo set about gathering ingredients for their feast and began to produce heaps and heaps of slightly burnt pancakes. Things were a little awkward, yes, but as close to normal as possible. They were joking and goofing off and even tried to have a food fight. The playful dispute was quickly cut short, however, when Richie accidentally slammed his forearm on the corner of the table, which caused his wounds to reopen.

Richie hissed in pain and pulled up his sleeve to minimize the bloodstains on it. He moved quickly towards the bathroom, but paused when he realized that Virgil was following. “Normal day, V,” he said without turning around. “You don’t know about this. I’m just going to the bathroom.” After a moment’s hesitation, Virgil sighed and retreated back to the kitchen.

Once safely shut in the bathroom, Richie finally dared to examine the damage. About 7 of the 11 fresh cuts were bleeding, and the remaining 4 were red and irritated. He inhaled sharply at the triggering sight of the blood. _Maybe I should have let Virgil help after all._ His senses desperately absorbed the red liquid; the coppery smell, the tickling feeling as it oozed from his body, the crimson color as it beaded along his arm like firey pearls…

Richie shook his head to clear it and squatted down to grab some bandages from the cupboard under the sink. As he searched, a pair of silver styling scissors fell out onto the floor. Richie paused, contemplating, before slowly placing them back into the cover.

The only bandages he found weren’t quite big enough to cover all of his cuts, so he had to settle for three giant Band-Aids. They had to be placed crooked in order to cover the wounds, and Richie felt embarrassed at the poor patch-up. He would have felt a lot better with a roll of gauze, but he had used up the last of the Hawkins’ gauze the night before after dinner.

The rest of breakfast was noticeably more subdued. It was hard for them to keep up the façade of normalcy, so they let it drop temporarily as they ate in silence. The act resumed as soon as they finished and moved into the living room. For hours, Virgil and Richie had a “major monster movie marathon,” as it was dubbed. They had planned on watching every monster movie to be found in the house, which was quite a few, but after the first two, decided to switch to comedies for a while.

The movie they picked was a good one. It kept them laughing constantly. After a while, it actually felt like a normal day instead of just pretending. While watching the movie, Virgil and Richie were finally able to forget about everything that had happened and just be teenagers again. It was nice.

At some point, Virgil glanced over at Richie, who was focused intently on the movie. When the main character cracked a joke, Richie threw his head back and howled in laughter. Virgil watched as the boy’s entire face lit up with joy. For the first time in who knows how long, Virgil could see that Richie was truly happy.

It was addicting, seeing Richie laugh like that. There was something in the way that his eyes squeezed shut and his lips parted into a wide smile that left Virgil feeling slightly dizzy. It was nice.

* * *

 

At the Dakota Community Center, Robert sat frustrated in his office. He had been on hold with Child Protective Services for almost two hours now, waiting to be transferred to the proper department. “What if this was an emergency?” he asked the elevator music playing loudly into his ear and slammed his fist on his desk. Standing, he began to pace back and forth. A few minutes later, the music was finally replaced with a human voice.

“You’ve reached the Dakota Department of Child Services, this is Janice speaking, how can I help you?”

“Yes. Thank you. My name is Robert Hawkins and I’d like to report a child abuse case,” he said as he sunk back into his chair.

“All right. I’ll need basic information; how old is the child, who is abusing him or her, things like that.”

“Richie is 17 years old and his father has been both physically and verbally abusing him.”

“In what ways?”

“Sean… He hit Richie. For years, I guess. And yelled at him, told him that ‘a fag like you shouldn’t even be alive.’”

A pause. “May I ask what led you to these conclusions? For the records.”

“Richie told me.” Robert heard a pen scratching.

“Okay, I’ll need Richie’s last name, along with his father’s, if it’s different. I’ll also need his address so I can send a caseworker to talk to both of them this week.”

Robert gave her the information. “Richie’s not staying there, though,” he added. “He’s staying with me and my children.” She asked for his address and phone number as well, which he willingly gave, and set up an appointment for a caseworker to come to the house the next day.

Relieved that his task was completed, Robert hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. He felt better now that at least something had been done, but he wished he could do more, or make things go quicker. Better yet, he wished he could just whisk Richie away to some place where things like this never happen.

 _Richie…_ Robert sighed. He knew that it was going to be a long struggle for the poor boy. He has the emotional scars left over from his father’s abuse, along with the physical ones. It would be years until psychologists considered him “cured.” He’d probably be put on medication for his panic attacks, and was going to be at a much higher risk for depression in the future. And that didn’t even take his very apparent addiction to cutting into play.

Robert sighed again and stood up, beginning to gather his things to head home. There was nothing more he could do here, so he figured he could go home and be with the boys. Turning the lights off on his way, he exited into the early evening.

* * *

Back at the house, Richie and Virgil had moved on to video games. Neither of them had even thought about the events of the past few days in hours, which was an immense relief. They were in the middle of  _Zombie Apocalypse 2_ when the doorbell rang. Richie paused the game and Virgil jumped up to answer it.

“Sharon, if that’s you trying to be annoying, you know that the spare key is –”

“Virgil?” asked Maggie Foley. “May I speak with Richie?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Talk of self harm, talk of abuse, intense conversation regarding abusive parents

_“May I talk to Richie?”_

Virgil scowled. “I don’t think he’s up for talking right now.”

“I just… I just want to apologize… for Sean. Please, just let me talk to my son.”

Virgil felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Richie standing there.

“It’s okay, V,” he said with a slight waver in his voice. “Let her in so she can say what she wants. I owe her at least that much.” Virgil reluctantly stepped aside and tried to calm down before he started sparking. “Come on, mom,” said Richie. “We can talk in the kitchen.”

As they exited the living room, Virgil decided to let them be alone. Instead of following them, he stayed in the living room to cool off.

In the kitchen, Richie and Maggie sat on opposite ends of the table. It was Maggie who spoke first: “Richie, please come home.” She reached across the table to hold his hands, but he pulled away.

“And why should I do that? I thought I wasn’t welcome anymore.”

“Richie, your father–”

“Is an ignorant, homophobic bastard who refuses to change!”

Maggie flinched. “Please try to believe me when I say that he was just angry, sweetie. You know how he gets sometimes. He can’t help it.”

Richie’s eyes bulged in outrage. “He can’t _help it?”_ he snapped. “What in God’s name are you talking about? Of course he can fucking _help it!”_

“Richie, please listen–”

“No! You listen!” He stood and leaned across the table. “Do you even know the extent of what he’s done? Do you know how many ribs he’s broken, or how he once bruised my right kidney when he kicked me? How about all the times I had to reset my broken nose in my room and try not to scream, because if I did, he’d give me something to scream about.” He yanked up his sleeve, ripped off two of the bandages without even wincing, and presented his arm. Maggie cried out and pressed a hand to her mouth.

“How about this, _mom?_ I didn’t have anyone to talk to. No one to confide in. So this is what happened. Three years, mom. For three _fucking_ years I did this and no one noticed. No one fucking _noticed_ me!”

Virgil rushed in, having heard the shouting from the other room. He tried to place his hands on Richie’s shoulders to calmly guide him away, but Richie just shrugged them off and continued yelling. No matter what he did, Virgil couldn’t get through to him.

Finally, Virgil heard the wonderful sound of his father’s car in the driveway. When the front door opened, he cried out, “Pops, in here!”

Robert rushed in, coat still on and keys in hand, and quickly took in the situation. He turned to Maggie, who was sobbing loudly, and said, “I think it’s time for you to go, Mrs. Foley.” She stood and began to leave, and Richie strained against the hold Virgil had managed to get him in.

Maggie paused at the door. “Richie. I’m so, _so_ sorry. I love you. Your father–”

“MY FATHER CAN ROT IN HELL!”

With a sob, Maggie ran out, and Robert turned his attention to the still-struggling boy.

“Richie, she’s gone. You need to calm down now.”

“No! That bitch, she let him hit me! She _let_ him! Neither of them deserve to live! I’ll – I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them both! Now LET ME GO!”

Robert nodded at Virgil, who released his grip. Richie rushed to chase after his mom, but was captured in Robert’s arms. He struggled and squirmed and thrashed and yelled until everything hurt, and then slowly sunk to the ground. Robert sat with him and held him and stroked his head as he began to release heart-wrenching sobs. Virgil stood in silence, tears streaming down his face, as he watched his best friend break down completely.

“S-she never h-h-helped m-me,” said Richie between cries. “She w-was always in the n-next room… She heard m-my screams… S-she loved h-him m-more. Neither of th-them ever l-loved me… They think I’m w-worthless… Maybe I am w-worthless…”

Virgil crouched down next to him. “Richie. Look at me. You are _not_ worthless. _They’re_ the ones who are worthless.” Virgil took a shuddering breath and Richie’s sobs grew louder. “Richie, you mean so much to so many people. To me, Pops, even Sharon. And Daisy and Freida and the thousands of people in Dakota. You’re a hero. So many people love you, Rich. So many people.”

“H-how can they l-love me when I a-always f-f-fuck everything up?”

“You don’t fuck everything up. What about all those times you saved me? I’d be dead if you weren’t here, Richie.”

Richie tried to speak, but was crying too hard to get any words out. Instead, he simply buried his face in Robert’s chest, who rocked him like he used to do for his children so many years ago.

* * *

 

It took almost two hours for Richie to finally calm down. He ended up falling asleep in the living room, where they had moved after the first half hour. When he was settled and sound asleep on the couch, Robert motioned for Virgil to follow him into the kitchen.

“A lot has happened in this room the past few days, hasn’t it?” asked Robert as he and Virgil stood silently.

“Yeah… it has…” The two bloodied bandages still lay on the floor, forgotten in the disorder of Maggie’s visit. Robert picked them up and threw them away before sitting across from Virgil at the table, mirroring the position that Richie and Maggie had been in mere hours before.

“I called CPS today, Virgil. They’re going to send a caseworker over tomorrow to talk to Richie. They might want to speak with you and me as well.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” asked Virgil.

Robert hesitated. “In the long run… yes. But as for short-term, it has the potential to cause very big problems.”

“Problems? Like what?”

“Well, first of all, Richie will have to tell his story again to a complete stranger. He’ll probably have to go into greater detail, too, which could be traumatic to have to relive. The other problem is what Sean will do when he finds out that the authorities are now involved. We don’t know what he’s capable, so we’ll need to be very careful.”

Virgil let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “I hadn’t even thought about that.” He shook his head. “And I thought that Richie was stressed out already. He’s going to flip.”

“That’s what we’re here for, son. To give him someone to lean on when he needs it.” Robert removed his glasses briefly to rub his tired eyes. “But I want to make sure you’re okay, too, Virgil. As much as I love Richie, you will always be my first priority. If things become too much for you, just let me know and we’ll figure something out.” Virgil nodded weakly and Robert stood.

“All right, now why don’t you head up to bed, Virgil? I’ll stay down here for a while in case he wakes up and needs something.”

Virgil shook his head. “No, I’m fine, Pops, but you should sleep. You look exhausted. I got plenty of rest last night.”

Robert paused. “Only if you’re sure, Virgil…”

“Of course I am,” he replied with a smile. “Get some rest.”

“All right. But don’t hesitate to wake me if something comes up.”

Robert climbed the stairs to his room and Virgil quietly entered the living room. Richie was still sound asleep. Remembering how he complained of headaches when he slept with his glasses on, Virgil gently removed the delicate frames from his face and placed them on the end table. He covered his friend’s sleeping form with a blanket and curled up on the floor with a pillow. He wanted to be right there if Richie needed anything.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Physical abuse towards a spouse

The bang of the front door flying open made Maggie jump. She stiffened as she heard Sean’s angry footsteps climbing the stairs. He stormed into their bedroom where she sat at her sewing desk, back to the door. She could feel his looming presence behind her and she turned around slowly.

“Sean… You’re… um, early.” She tried desperately to keep her voice from shaking. “If I had known, I would have had dinner ready.”

“I hear you visited the Hawkins family yesterday.” His voice oozed with acidity and his face was contorted into a menacing scowl.

Maggie’s face paled. “Oh, I just… I had to drop off a–”

She was cut off by a sharp smack to her cheek. The force of the blow knocked her off of her chai. Tears sprang to her eyes and she clutched her face.

Sean moved to stand threateningly over her. “I’ve told you you’re never to associate with those kinds of people.” Maggie could smell alcohol on his breath. “One of the guys at work saw you there. Can you even begin to imagine my embarrassment when he told me that he saw my _wife_ entering the house of a single black man?”

“Please, Sean, I just went to talk to Richie.” Tears began to fall as she begged him not to strike again. When she pleadingly reached for his hands, he grabbed her wrists and squeezed them hard enough for her to cry out in pain and wonder if he had broken them.

She continued to plead and apologize until Sean's fingers wrapped around her throat.

“Shut up!” he ordered. “The last thing we need is one of these fucking neighbors calling the cops again.”

Her eyes bulged and she began to grow lightheaded from a lack of oxygen. After what felt like hours of Sean’s fingers blocking her windpipe and his alcohol-scented voice in her ear, a blackness slowly began to descend upon her vision, and it felt like cotton balls were shoved into her ears. For a split second, Maggie wondered if she was dying. If so, she was glad that she had seen her son one final time.

* * *

 

Across town, Liz Anderson was trying to navigate through a part of Dakota she had never been in when her cell phone rang. She answered, thinking it could be her boss calling with more information on her case.

“Elizabeth Anderson speaking.”

“You’re on your way to Richard Foley, right?” No, not her boss, but the secretary at the office. Liz groaned inwardly.

“Yes, Janice. I just got lost, but I’ll be back on track soon.”

“You never checked in with me. You’re supposed to check in between each meeting so I know you’re making all of your appointments. Especially for this one; it’s a pretty serious case that we’ve got here.”

“Sorry, Janice. I’ll try to remember next time.” She rolled her eyes. Janice had been her coworker for almost two years now, and she never got any less annoying than the day they met.

“All right. Call me when you’re done.”

“Will do.”

Liz tossed her phone on the passenger seat and tried to figure out where she was. She squinted at the street signs and drove at ten miles per hour until she finally saw a street she recognized. Once she found her way, she was parked in front of the Hawkins’ residence within minutes.

She grabbed her binder, which contained all the papers she needed, and exited the car. The house seemed nice, for the most part. There was some wear and tear, especially so around the front door for some reason, but nothing major. As she made her way up the path to the door, Liz’s hands moved to smooth the wrinkles from her skirt. She always seemed to have wrinkled clothes, no matter how much she ironed them. It was a miracle that she hadn’t gotten fired because of it yet. Being the type of caseworker she was, it was important to look nice; business suits, black heels, and hair pulled into a bun. Just add a pair of glasses and she would be a wonderful librarian.

Liz knocked sharply, and was startled when the door was open before her hand even had time to fall back to her side. A large, African American man with glasses and a kind face stood there. She smiled. “You must be Robert Hawkins, right? I’m Elizabeth Anderson, the caseworker assigned to Richard’s situation.”

Robert smiled and held out his hand, which she took. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Anderson. Come on in.” He stepped to the side to give her room to enter.

“Thank you. And please, call me Liz.”

They entered the living room, where Richie and Virgil sat on the couch like statues. Liz smiled widely, trying to ease their nerves.

“Liz, this is my son, Virgil, and his best friend, Richie. Boys, this is Liz. She’ll be working with us for a while.” Neither of the boys smiled.

“Okay, then,” said Liz. She sat in an armchair across from the couch and Robert sat next to Virgil. “Let me explain what I’d like to have happen today. First, I’m going to talk to Richie. The interviews are traditionally done as one-on-one sessions, but if you like, you can have someone there with you.” Virgil sat up straighter. If Richie didn’t have to be alone for this, then there was no way he was leaving.

“Unfortunately,” she continued, “it would have to be an outside party, like a neighbor or a counselor.” Virgil slumped back down and Liz addressed Richie directly. “You can I can chat for a while. I can ask some questions, you might have some questions, and then we’ll see where that takes us. Everything will have to be recorded on tape, for the records. That sound all right?” After a moment’s hesitation, Richie nodded.

“After that, Robert, Virgil, I may need to talk to you two as well. If so, it’ll have to be recorded too, but we’ll see if that’s even necessary later.”

Robert stood. “That seems fine to me. I’m assuming you’d like to get started then?”

“Yes, if that’s all right with Richie.” When he slowly nodded again, Robert and Virgil went upstairs to give them some privacy. Liz pulled a small recording device from her binder, pressed the record button, and placed it on the coffee table. Then she opened her binder to a fresh sheet of paper.

“Okay, Richie. You know why I was called, right?” Another nod. “I’d like to hear your side of the story.” Silence. Liz sighed. “Richie, I really don’t want to have to pull out some of the tricks I used with the younger kids. I just want to hear you out.”

“I…” he paused. “I don’t know where to start.”

Liz uncapped her pen. “How about at the beginning?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the delay. I'll pause in my uploading here so I don't bombard my 2 subscribers with emails or notifications or whatever. Idk how AO3 works. xD


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Talk of suicide

“All right, Richie, I think that’s enough for today. Would you mind getting Virgil for me?” Liz capped her pen and reviewed her notes as Richie went upstairs to fetch Virgil.

_\- Physical and emotional abuse from father_  
 _\- Father is unaccepting of homosexuality_  
 _\- Mother seems to allow abuse to continue_  
 _\- R has been self harming (cutting, hair pulling, bruising) for appx. 3 yrs._  
 _\- Suicidal, has attempted multiple times_  
 _\- Very likely to have moderate to severe depression  
_ _\- Feels unwanted, not good enough_

She sighed deeply. Seeing kids like this was easily the worst part of her job. It broke her heart to see so many children and teens who just didn’t feel loved by their guardians.

When Liz heard footsteps coming down the stairs, she turned to a fresh piece of paper in her binder and looked up to greet Virgil. His eyes narrowed slightly and his arms were crossed in front of his chest. He sat at the farthest end of the couch.

“So, Virgil,” she said with a smile. “Richie told me that you two are really close friends.”

“You’re going to get Richie’s dad arrested, right?” Virgil’s eyes sent death glares at her as he ignored her words. “Because if nothing’s gonna come of this, I don’t see the point in talking to you.”

Liz frowned. “Well, I’m definitely going to do my best to help Mr. Foley learn the error of his ways. If jail is the best option for him, I will make sure he gets there.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “So, no promises, you mean. Then why should I talk to you?”

“Don’t you want to help Richie?” Virgil averted his eyes as Liz continued. “The more I learn about Richie and what’s been going on, the better I can help him. You do want him to get help, don’t you?”

Liz waited for a reply. After a minute or two, Virgil sighed and uncrossed his arms. “Of course I want him to get better. He’s my best friend. I… I don’t know what I would do without him.” All of a sudden, the floodgates opened up, and Virgil couldn’t stop his thoughts from being spoken. “We’ve been best friends since kindergarten. He’s been there through everything. When my mom died, when we went to high school, when I had a huge crush on Daisy, when I got my–” He cut himself off, cursing for almost mentioning his powers.

“I feel so guilty,” he continued, “that I didn’t see this coming. I mean, I knew he was having problems with his dad, but I never imagined he was… And then when he came out to me, I never even thought that he… that his dad would… I can’t believe I didn’t know… I mean, he’s my best friend. More than that, really… Like a brother, but different. I don’t know…” He trailed off.

Liz seized the opportunity to ask questions. “So, when Richie came out to you, I imagine he seemed scared?”

“Yeah. He was terrified. He looked as if he thought I was going to hit him or something like–” Virgil groaned and buried his face in his hands. “God, I’m so _stupid!_ No wonder he was terrified; his dad was probably already hitting him by then.”

“Listen, Virgil. None of this was your fault. There was no way you could have known.”

“But I still should have seen that something was wrong! What if I hadn’t caught him cutting on Friday? What if he kept going? What if his dad beat him to a pulp and left him bleeding out somewhere? What if… what if he actually killed himself?”

Virgil looked up at Liz with tears in his eyes. It took her a moment to realize that he was waiting for an answer. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Virgil turned away to stare blankly out the window.

“I imagine I’d kill myself, too… if he were gone…”

* * *

 

Once Liz was finished speaking with Virgil, he went upstairs while she talked with his father. He probably could have eavesdropped on their conversation, but to be honest, he was tired of hearing Liz’s mildly annoying voice. So instead he went upstairs and found Richie hunched over the desk in Virgil’s room, furiously scribbling away on some graph paper. Virgil walked across the room and peeked over his shoulder to see what he was inventing this time.

“An upgrade to the tracers,” Richie said without prompting. “Hopefully with these ones, you’ll be able to hear them up to six, maybe even seven or eight, miles away. Of course, the noise will be much louder than you’re used to when it’s close, so you might want to–”

Virgil snatched the plans and tossed them across the room, earning an irritated, “Hey!” from Richie. “What did you think would happen if you killed yourself?” asked Virgil.

Richie’s eyes widened in surprise, but quickly narrowed. “What are you going on about?”

“The other night. You said you wanted to kill yourself. That you’ve actually _tried_ in the past. What the fuck were you thinking?”

His anger beginning to escalate, Richie pushed himself up from the chair. “Does it matter? I was depressed enough to want to end my life, and I came pretty close a few times, too.”

“But that doesn’t even solve anything! All you would have succeeded in doing is leaving everything fucked up here!”

“Well, maybe I would have finally been happy then! I wouldn’t have to worry about all the shit going down!” Richie spun away from Virgil and stood by the window, looking out. “I could just…” his voice softened, and a sense of longing settled in. “I could just float above the clouds, not even caring about anything. I wouldn’t be afraid. I wouldn’t hurt, physically or emotionally. Everything would be perfect.”

Virgil took a step forward. “What about me, Rich?” he asked softly. “I honestly don’t think I could handle it if you went and offed yourself.”

“I know,” Richie replied without looking at him. “Knowing that is the only reason why I’m still alive. I couldn’t hurt you like that, Virgil.”

“Promise me, Richie,” Virgil took a step closer. “If you ever feel like that again, call me, go for a walk, hell, invent something if that’ll get your mind off it. Just please… don’t leave me, or else I might follow in your footsteps.”

“I… I promise.”

* * *

 

Pale blue eyes fluttered open as Maggie Foley finally came to. She could feel the softness of a mattress under her and the gentle weight of a blanket above. She tried to move, but stopped when she grew dizzy. Her head throbbed in pain, and upon reaching a hand up to investigate, she discovered a bandage wrapped snugly around her head.

A sniffle from the corner of the room grabbed her attention. She squinted her eyes to try and see without her glasses and could just barely make out a dark figure sitting in a chair facing her.

“Sean,” she choked, her throat still sore and raw. “Sean, is that you?” She watched as the figure stood and moved closer.

“Maggie,” he said tearfully. “I’m so sorry. I’m a horrible husband. You must hate me, just like everyone else.”

Sitting up slowly, Maggie reached for his hand. “Of course not, Sean. I don’t hate you. I’m disappointed, yes, but that doesn’t mean I hate you.” She tugged him down to sit on the bed next to her. “You’re a sweet man, Sean. You just have a few flaws, like everyone else.”

“What have I become, Mags? I hate being like this. I hate hurting you, I hate that I made our son leave. What did I do to deserve this? And you, you don’t deserve this at all.” He gently brushed his fingers over the bruises on her neck. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. You deserve so much more than this. You’d be so much better off if you just left me.” He withdrew his hand to cover his face as he began to sob. Maggie pulled him into her arms and whispered soothing words in his ear.

“I will never leave you, Sean.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Homophobic slurs, talk of suicide, school bullying, highly detailed description of cutting. Please be careful!

“Richard Foley?”

“Here.”

Richie sighed. He was sitting in fourth period, his Art I class. He hated Art. Which was to be expected, really. His world felt whole when it was grounded in solid facts. Math, that was good. History, that was another good one. Science was perfect. English was okay. But Art… Oh, Art was the worst. In Art, there was abstract. In Art, gravity could be flipped upside down and kicked across the room, and it was still considered Art. Richie simply couldn’t wrap his head around it. How could these people function with all of this chaos?

But he needed visual arts credits in order to graduate. And thus, Art I. He sighed again. He really hadn’t wanted to come to school today, but Robert had insisted on at least trying to keep things normal. All Richie knew was that despite his layers of long sleeves, he still felt like the entire world knew about what had happened over the weekend. Al day, it was as if everyone could see right through his soul to his deepest, darkest secret.

That wasn’t the case, of course, and he tried to convince himself that he was just overreacting. Still, the feeling lingered, and it didn’t help that his teacher was droning on about shading and cross-hatching or something. He was supposed to be “honing his artistic talent,” but instead was doodling ideas for a new gadget that could neutralize bang babies. Which could technically be considered Art. Its components were a lot like a stun gun, but he had yet to figure out how to keep it from actually electrocuting them. That was Static’s job.

Richie paused in his drawings, thinking of his friend. He kept thinking about what Virgil had said the day before. _“Just please… don’t leave me…” “I honestly don’t think I could handle it…” “What about me, Rich?”_ He could hardly even sleep that night because the conversation kept playing through his head. He wondered fervently if it had been a good choice or not to tell Virgil that he was the only reason Richie was still alive. In the moment, it seemed like the right thing to say, but the more Richie thought about it, the more true he came to find it was.

Virgil honestly was the only reason that Richie was still alive. He was the only reason why none of his suicide attempts had worked. Something would always happen to stop him. Maybe it was a call from Virgil, or a surprise visit. One time it was just a stray scent of cologne wafting through the house. Virgil hadn’t even been over that day, and the fragrance left just as quickly as it had arrived. Richie often wondered if he had imagined it, but supposed it didn’t matter. That day, Virgil had saved his life without even being there.

When the bell finally rang signaling the end of the dreaded Art class, Richie eagerly gathered his things and flew out of the paint-scented classroom. It was lunch time and he was desperate to find Virgil and drag him to the library or somewhere quiet where he could finally relax and calm down. As he was walking through the crowded hallways, someone crashed into him, slamming him into the lockers. He winced as pain shot through his shoulders.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, fag!” A pair of jocks sauntered away, playfully jostling each other, and Richie watched them with tears in his eyes. He was used to it, really, what with his dad always tossing him around and the tormenting that began at school after he came out. It was normal now. But this itme, the sharp lockers seemed to sting just a little bit more than before and the pain in the back of his throat refused to leave as he struggled to keep the tears from falling.

“Hey, yo! Gorilla and The Hulk!” Richie turned in confusion to find a fuming Virgil stalking past him towards the two football players. “How about you apologize for bumping into him, huh?”

The two burly teens shared a look and turned to face Virgil. “What’s it to you?” asked the one who pushed Richie.

“You could have hurt him, douchebags!” Virgil took a step forward, his eyes lit up with rage. His fists were clenched, barely able to control his electricity. “So just fucking apologize!”

The football players feigned shock before bursting into laughter at Virgil’s antics. “What are you, his boyfriend? Do we have another faggy fairy at this school?”

“Virgil,” Richie tried to get his attention. He hoisted his backpack higher on his shoulder and grabbed Virgil’s arm. “Come on, it’s fine.”

“It’s not _fine,_ Richie. They need to apologize.”

“Come _on,_ V!”

Richie pulled at his arm and Virgil allowed himself to be dragged away into a separate, less crowded hallway. Virgil began to pace back and forth, trying to calm down.

“Why do you let them push you around like that, Richie?” Virgil huffed in annoyance. “I mean, day in and day out, they’re always pushing you or calling you names and you never _do_ anything about it!”

“Virgil, it’s fine. I mean–”

“No, it’s not fine! They don’t even know what you’re going through.” Virgil stopped his pacing and glared down the hallway. “Who are they to make your life miserable?” he grumbled. “You’ve never done anything wrong. I swear, Richie,” he turned to face him, “I will make sure that those assholes never bother you again. Even if I have to show up at their houses dressed as Static, they are never gonna touch you again.”

“C’mon, Virg, you don’t have to do that.” Richie ran his hands through his hair and blushed. “I mean, I’ve been dealing with it for ages. It’s no big deal.”

Virgil shrugged. “Figured you’d say that, but it’s definitely a big deal. You’re my best friend, Richie, and I won’t stand to see you–”

Virgil was cut off by Richie stepping forward and kissing him full on the lips. Virgil’s eyes widened in surprise and his body tensed, confused as to what was happening. Richie’s hand found its way to the back of Virgil’s neck, but when he noticed Virgil’s reaction, he quickly pulled away, his face bright red. The two stood there staring at each other for a few seconds before Richie turned and ran as if his life depended on it.

It took Virgil another few seconds to regain his composure enough to chase after him. “Richie!” he called. “Richie, wait! Come back!” He darted through the halls, trying desperately to not lose the flash of blond hair weaving through the crowds of students. When he finally ducked into a rarely-used bathroom, Virgil gratefully followed.

The bathroom was empty, as usual, save for the two boys. Richie had shut himself in a cubicle and Virgil could hear him trying not to cry. “Rich,” he said somewhat breathlessly.

“I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Richie, I’m not mad at you or anything, I just–”

“Go away!”

“Richie, please, just talk to me! I was just surprised; I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings!”

“Fuck off, Virgil.”

Virgil started at the bitterness in Richie’s voice. “Fine,” he spat. “See you at home.”

Richie held his breath until he heard the door shut. As soon as the _click_ of the latch sounded, sobs began to escape from his mouth. He bit down on his fist to try and muffle them, but it was no use. He felt so stupid for kissing Virgil like that. He didn’t even know what he had been thinking. Oh, right, he didn’t think. Instead he just went with his feelings, which he should have known better than to do by now.

Sinking down to the floor, Richie’s sobs deepened and he began to shake. He heard the bell ring to call students to fifth period, but didn’t budge. There was no way he was going out there like this, and it didn’t seem like he was going to calm down any time soon. So he just let himself cry, because he was so sure that he had just lost his best friend. Virgil seemed so freaked out that Richie wouldn’t be surprised if his bags were sitting on the curb when he got to the house.

All of a sudden, Richie’s breathing hitched as he looked around his small enclosure. The walls were caving in on him, he was sure of it! He scrambled to his feet and burst out of the cubicle, but the bathroom itself still seemed to be collapsing in.

 _Gotta get out. Gotta get out._ Leaving his backpack forgotten on the floor, Richie rushed out of the bathroom and raced to the nearest exit. As soon as he hit the fresh air, his lungs finally decided to do their job and bring delicious oxygen to his cells. He leaned against the building for a minute to catch his breath, but didn’t stay for long. Teachers and hall monitors frequently checked this exit for cutters, and he didn’t want to be ushered to the principal’s office. Richie laughed at the irony. He was a cutter, but definitely not the kind the hall monitors searched for.

He started to walk away, glancing around for teachers, and made it off campus without incident. As he began to wander the streets of Dakota, he paid no attention to where he was going. He just needed to be moving. Standing still meant going nowhere and making no progress. It meant weakness and fear. Moving meant going forward, finding a solution. So he walked.

It took him a good twenty minutes to realize that he still had tears and snot running down his face, earning him plenty of stares from people he passed. _They must think I’m a freak,_ he thought miserably. He felt the tears start to fall faster and ducked into the first building he came to, the Burger Fool, desperate for privacy once more. When he walked in, a few people paused to look up at Richie, who was quickly beginning to panic. He ran into the restaurant’s bathroom and locked the door behind him, relieved to have found a place where no one could stare at him.

Richie walked over to the sink, splashed water on his face, and then looked in the mirror. All he could see were his flaws. His red, puffy eyes; his tear-stained cheeks; his limp and greasy hair. It was no wonder that Virgil didn’t like him like that. He was disgusting. He was annoying. He was nothing.

Richie tore his gaze from the mirror and sat down on the closed toilet lid. With trembling hands, he removed his left show and pried the sole out of the bottom. A fresh razor blade was hidden there. His shoe fell from his hands as he broke the seal on the cardboard wrapper that covered the shining silver. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had used a new razor. He was desperate to finally be able to calm down, so Richie pushed his sleeves up, pressed the sharp edge to his wrist, and sliced.

The sight that followed made Richie’s heart stop. Something had gone wrong. He must have misjudged how sharp the blade was, or pressed too hard in his eagerness. Blood began to drip steadily from his arm. He tried to wipe it away with some toilet paper. The red cleared just long enough for him to see the light yellow fat tissue peeking from under his skin before it began to bleed in earnest again. Richie’s arm pulsed with pain, but there was no relief. Only pure and complete terror.

Upon standing, Richie swayed slightly, already a bit dizzy from the sheer amount of blood dripping from his fingertips. He stumbled to the sink, leaving a trail of blood on the floor, and tried to wash his wound, like he always did. This time, however, the water stayed the same shade of pink, and never grew lighter to show him that the blood had stopped. He turned off the faucet to confirm that yes, the cut was still bleeding, and decided that it had gone far enough.

Feeling shaky all over, Richie fumbled with the lock on the door, trying frantically to get it open and call for help. When his vision began to swim, however, he collapsed to his knees and resorted to banging on the door.

 _I don’t want to die!_ He thought. _Please, don’t let me die!_ Too weak to continue pounding, Richie slumped against the wall before falling to his side, arms outstretched, reaching for help that might not even come in time. He watched the pool of blood beneath him grow steadily, until his vision shimmered and slowly faded.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Hospital scenes, talk of self harm, talk of suicide

Virgil tapped his pen nervously against his notebook. Sixth period was almost over, and Richie still hadn’t shown up. It was rare for the supergenius to skip class like this, especially their shared Physics class. So, naturally, Virgil was worried. Very worried. He was anxiously watching the clock, planning on going back to the bathroom he left Richie in as soon as the bell rang, when the ringing of the class phone interrupted the teacher’s lesson.

The students were instructed to quietly study their notes, but as soon as the teacher turned her back, whispers and giggles erupted throughout the room. Virgil continued to stare down the clock. There were only ten minutes left in class, but time seemed to be slowing down with each and every passing second. His foot tapped against the floor, and he began to chew on the end of his pen. The teacher hung up the phone and faced the class.

“Mr. Hawkins,” she said, snapping his attention back to the classroom. “Take your things and head to the office; you’re leaving for the day.”

Confused, Virgil stood up slowly and grabbed his things, trying to ignore the stares from his classmates. As he entered the hallway, a weight settled in his stomach and a chill passed down his spine. _Something is wrong,_ he thought. _Something must have happened._ He walked through the empty corridors in a daze. When he neared the main office, he saw his sister talking somberly to the principal. He quickened his pace.

“Sharon, what happened? Is it… it’s Richie, isn’t it?”

“Virgil,” she said as she placed her hands on his shoulder to steady him. “Richie’s in the hospital.” Virgil felt his knees weaken and was grateful when Sharon guided him into a chair by the office door. “He was found in the bathroom at the Burger Fool. He… he cut too deep and lost a lot of blood.”

Virgil closed his eyes and gripped the sides of the plastic chair. _It’s my fault. He cut himself because of me._ “Is he… is he alive?” He opened his eyes to find Sharon kneeling in front of him, tears in her eyes at the pain her two little brothers were going through.

“Yes. Daddy’s there now. He’s still asleep and in the ICU, but yes, he’s alive.”

Virgil took a deep breath. He wanted to cry, but he just felt numb. He wanted to scream and throw things and punch walls and sob until his sides hurt, but he couldn’t.

“Come on, Virgil,” said Sharon as she gently pulled him up. He stood and let her guide him out to the car.

* * *

 

Richie groaned softly as he began to wake. He was in the hospital, he quickly realized, as the sterile smell filled his nose and various hospital noises reached his ears. His arm ached dully, which confused him for a moment, until he remembered what had happened.

_Cutting too deep, yelling for help, slipping in and out of consciousness, an employee finding him half alive, the frantic ambulance ride, the paramedics’ hands covered in his blood…_

He groaned again and let his eyelids slide open.

Robert leaned forward in the chair he had been resting in when he saw Richie’s eyes open. “Richie,” he said with a small, relieved smile. “Welcome back, son. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Richie replied, his voice hoarse. He looked around the room. “Virgil. I need… I need to talk to him.”

“He and Sharon are on their way. She had to pick him up from school.”

Richie froze. “He… he had to find out at school?”

“Yes.”

“God,” he whispered as he brought his hands up to cover his face. He could feel the gentle tug of various tubes and wires shifting with him. “I’m so stupid.”

Robert moved his chair forward and gently pulled Richie’s hands from his face. His fingers lingered on the boy’s cheek for a moment, and Richie felt like crying when he realized just how much Robert cared about him.

“Richie,” said Robert when he pulled his hand back. “I have to ask; were you trying to kill yourself?”

“No!” he exclaimed. “No, I promised Virgil that I wouldn’t! I just… It was an accident… That’s all… Just an accident.”

Robert reached out to hold Richie’s shaking hand. “All right. Now, why don’t you rest a while? I’m going to go out and see if Virgil and Sharon are here yet.” Richie nodded and let his eyes slowly close, surprised at how tired he still felt. Within a minute, he was asleep again. Robert gently eased his fingers from the boy’s grasp and exited the room. He passed Richie’s doctor on the way to the waiting room and let her know that Richie had woken up for a few minutes.

When Robert entered the waiting room, Virgil and Sharon jumped up from their seats. They both began to talk at the same time until Robert held his hands up to silence them.

“He’s all right,” he said, his children hanging on to his every word. “I told the staff about the situation with Sean, so they’re allowing me to act as his guardian for the time being.”

“Was he trying to…” Virgil trailed off, but they all knew what he was going to ask.

“No. He said it was an accident.” Robert motioned for them to sit. “Now listen, you two. I’m going to let you both in there to see him and talk to him, but there are some things you’ll need to know. First of all, he lost a lot of blood, so he’ll most likely have a transfusion bag hooked up to him. He’s still pretty shaken up from everything, so he’s much paler than normal and his hands are trembling. He has a pretty large bandage on his wrist, but they’ve been changing it periodically. If the nurse comes in to check it while you’re there, don’t be surprised if you see the wound. He ended up needing nine stitches in it, and it still looks a little gory.”

Virgil took a deep breath as he processed the information. “Is he awake?” he asked. “Can I see him?”

“He was awake for a little while, yes, but he was tired and fell back asleep.” Robert stood, as did Virgil and Sharon. “Why don’t you head on in anyways, Virgil. I’ll tell the nurses to put you and your sister on the visitors list.”

Virgil walked towards the door his father had come out of and waited patiently until he heard the buzz of a nurse unlocking it for him. With a quick glance back at his family, he stepped inside and was directed to room 746.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Hospital setting, talk of self harm

Never in Virgil’s life did he think it would take so much effort to turn a doorknob. Oh, the action itself was simple enough. That was the easy part. The hard part was making his feet move forward into room 746, knowing that it was his fault that Richie was in there in the first place. But, after a few seconds of deep breaths, Virgil was finally able to enter.

The room had a cold, institutional feel to it that made Virgil shiver. Richie lay against the sheets, so pale that he almost blended into them. The walls and floors were white, and it seemed like the only color came from the bag of blood that slowly dripped its way into Richie’s veins.

“You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to,” Richie said, startling Virgil. “You’re uncomfortable. I can tell.”

Virgil shook his head and sat in the chair next to the bed. “I’m fine here,” he said softly. “Unless you want me to leave. Then I’ll go… if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. You can stay.”

An awkward silence settled between them. Neither boy knew what to say or how to begin. Finally, Richie spoke up. “It was in my shoe,” he said, avoiding Virgil’s gaze. “The razor. I didn’t give it to you. There’s another, taped in the back of my drawer in your dresser. Could you… throw it out, before I get back? Just in case?”

Virgil nodded. “Of course.” There was another pause. “Richie, I’m sorry for how I reacted when you –”

“No,” Richie interrupted. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. It never happened, okay?”

“But Rich,” Virgil said, “it _did_ happen, and we should talk about it. I mean, if you feel that way about me then –”

“Stop!” Richie pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his good arm around them. “I don’t want to talk about it!”

“But –”

“No! Because all it will do is make me feel like shit because you’re my best friend and you’re straight and you’re only two dates away from being Daisy’s boyfriend and even if that doesn’t happen, I’ve seen how you look at Freida sometimes and I know you’ll never look at me like that, but it doesn’t matter anyways because I’ve already fucked up everything by kissing you!” He paused and dropped his forehead to meet his knees.” But the number one reason why I don’t want to talk about it is because it makes me want to cut. Badly.”

Virgil took a second to process Richie’s word vomit. “Why?” he asked, causing Richie to look up at him wearily. “Why do you want to cut right now? What is it, at this moment, that you find most appealing about it?”

Taken aback by Virgil’s blunt words, Richie faltered. “W-what?”

“Go ahead,” said Virgil, his voice surprisingly calm. “Tell me. I promise I won’t freak out on you or anything. Why do you want to cut?”

Averting his gaze again, Richie pondered the question for a moment. “The pain,” he said quietly. “Everything feels like a dream right now. The pain will shock things back into existence and bring me back.”

Virgil’s brain was working a mile a minute as he tried to come up with a solution. “Where?” he asked, hoping to keep Richie busy with talking. “Where do you want to cut?”

Richie let his legs straighten out again. He lifted his left arm and pointed to a spot just in between the bandage and his elbow. “There,” he said. “Right there.”

Suddenly, Virgil got an idea. “So you just need a sensation in that spot to make you feel real again?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. But pain always… works… best…” he trailed off as Virgil began to gently stroke the spot on his arm. There were a few old scars there, which hindered Richie’s ability to feel, but there were just enough nerves intact to register a faint tickling sensation.

“Is that helping?” Virgil asked after a minute.

Richie nodded and leaned his head back on the pillow. He could feel his muscles relaxing. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s helping. But… I don’t understand. I’ve tried that. It never worked before.”

With a small smile, Virgil said, “Maybe it’s because you don’t have the power to put a little zap to it.”

* * *

 

When Virgil walked back into the waiting room, Robert looked up from the magazine in his hands. He had been trying to read it, but couldn’t absorb any of the content, so he simply stared at a random page and let his mind wander.

Sitting down next to Robert, Virgil noticed his sister’s absence. “Where’s Sharon?” he asked.

“She had an appointment to go to,” Robert replied. “She left about ten minutes ago.” Virgil nodded and stared at his hands, which were folded in his lap. “Are you all right, Virgil?” Robert asked, noticing his son’s discomfort.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m fine.” Virgil’s voice cracked embarrassingly. He bit his lip and focused intently on his hands.

Robert put an arm around Virgil’s shoulders and pulled him as close as the armrest between them would allow. “No,” he said, “you’re not fine.”

“It’s my fault!” cried Virgil, frustration and guilt spilling over. “It’s my fault that he’s in here, Pops! He cut himself because of me!”

“What on earth are you talking about Virgil?”

And with that, the story flowed out of Virgil’s mouth. Robert listened quietly as his son explained what had happened that day to lead up to Richie’s accident. Virgil told him how horrible he felt at first for hurting Richie’s feelings with his reaction, but how angry he became when Richie refused to talk to him.

“I should never have left him in the bathroom,” Virgil finished. “Not with how upset he was. I should have expected him to want to cut and tried to help him instead of just leaving him alone. If I had just stayed with him, then–”

“Virgil,” Robert cut him off. “It’s not your fault. If we’re going off of ‘should haves’ and ‘ifs,’ then we can put the blame on anybody and everybody. But with situations like these, son, no one is to blame.” He turned in his chair the best that he could to face Virgil. “This isn’t your battle. Yes, Richie is family and we are all here to help, but he needs to beat this on his own terms. All we can do is point him in the right direction. The rest is up to him. Does that make sense?”

Virgil nodded slowly and took a deep breath. “Yeah, Pops. It makes sense.”

“Now,” Robert said, “Did you talk to him about the kiss?”

Now that he was calmer, Virgil felt his face heat up with embarrassment. “Um, a little, yeah.” This was definitely not on the list of things he was comfortable talking to his dad about.

“Good. And what did he say?”

“That he didn’t want to talk about it because…” Virgil hesitated. Somehow, he didn’t think it was quite appropriate to share Richie’s personal feelings about him like that. “Well, mostly because it made him want to cut.”

Robert nodded. “Understandable.” He stood, and Virgil followed suit. “I should go check in with Richie’s doctor. How about you head back down to the cafeteria and get some food?” Virgil nodded and began to walk away, but Robert called him back. “Oh, Virgil,” he said. “I suggest that you take some time to see where your relationship with Richie stands. From your end, that is.”

* * *

 

Maggie was resting in bed when she heard the telephone ring downstairs. After a moment of contemplating whether she should answer it or not, she gingerly stood and made her way down the stairs, gripping the banister tightly in case a dizzy spell hit. She picked up the phone just as the answering machine kicked in.

“Hello?”

“Maggie? It’s Robert. Is Sean home?”

Her heart started to pound. This didn’t sound good. “N-no, he’s not.”

“Good. There’s been… an accident,” Robert said slowly.

“Oh, God,” Maggie felt the color drain from her face. “Richie. Is he all right?”

“I think it would be better if we spoke in person. Can you come to the Dakota Highland Hospital?”

Maggie hesitated. Sean would be home in four hours. That should be enough time, right? But if it wasn’t… Well, she didn’t want to think about what would happen if she wasn’t here when he got home. But Richie was hurt.

“Maggie? Are you still there?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Talk of abuse, talk of self harm, talk of suicide

Maggie darted through the maze of hospital corridors, trying to find Waiting Room 2, where Robert was. She had made the trip from her home to the hospital in record time, desperate to reach her son and find out what had happened. Since the moment she hung up the phone, every possible scenario as to why Richie was in the hospital had run through her mind.

A few turns later, Maggie arrived in the waiting room and walked straight over to Mr. Hawkins.

“Robert,” she said, slightly breathless. He stood up to greet her. “What happened? Where’s Richie? Is he okay?”

“At the moment, he’s fine,” Robert said calmly. He led Maggie to a secluded corner of the room where they sat facing each other. “There’s a lot that’s happened since your visit Saturday evening.”

As Robert filled her in, Maggie found her heart being torn to shreds. She had never imagined that her son was capable of such things. She still hadn’t quite recovered from Richie showing her his arm, so the new information was like salt in an open wound. It wasn’t long at all before she pulled a tissue from her purse to wipe her rapidly falling tears.

“Maggie,” said Robert seriously after he had explained most of what had happened. “There’s something else. I called CPS on Shawn.”

Maggie’s heart all but stopped. Panic welled up inside her, making her feel like she was about to vomit. “No,” she whispered. _This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening!_ Shawn’s angry face found its way into her head and she felt dizzy thinking about how he would react.

Robert took her hands in his. “Please try to understand, Maggie,” he said. “As a counselor for troubled teens, I couldn’t let this go by unnoticed. A caseworker has already been assigned and has talked to Richie. She’ll most likely visit the house to talk to Shawn soon.”

Shaking all over, Maggie tore her hands away and wrapped her arms around herself. “You don’t understand,” she said unsteadily. “Shawn, he gets angry. Very easily. I don’t think–”

“Believe me, I do understand. Richie has told me about the physical abuse he suffered from at Shawn’s hand. But Richie will be safe with me. He’ll be out of the house and in a safe place, I promise.”

Maggie stood and began to back away. “Please, tell them it was all a mistake. Don’t let them talk to him.”

“But Maggie–”

“He’ll kill us!” she exclaimed, and then quickly pressed the tissue in her hand against her mouth. Tears continued to pour down her face.

Robert’s eyes grew wide. He stood as what she was saying dawned on him. “He’s been hitting you, too, hasn’t he?” She nodded and Robert slowly and gently held out a hand towards her. “I can help you. I’ve worked with situations like this before. You can trust me.”

Maggie hesitated, trying to decide what to do. It had been so long since she felt that she could trust anyone. “He’ll find us,” she said softly. “He swore that if I ever told anyone, he would hunt us down and kill us. He said that he would kill Richie. I can’t let him, Robert. I have to protect my son.”

“I won’t let him hurt Richie.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” she asked as she took a step back.

“I give you my words. I promise that I will keep you and Richie safe from Shawn.”

Robert let his words sink in. He could see that Maggie was contemplating. Then, slowly, she reached out her hand and grabbed a hold of his.

“All right.”

* * *

 

Virgil sat in a table in the corner of the cafeteria. He had been there for almost twenty minutes now. The food he had bought was long gone, since Virgil was never one to let good food go to waste, even in times of crisis. His father’s words kept repeating in his mind.

_“I suggest you take some time to see where your relationship with Richie stands.”_

But what did that mean? Virgil knew exactly where their relationship stood. Or, he thought he did at least. They were best friends. They had always been and always would be. There was no question about that. For years, the two had been like brothers. No, closer than brothers. But what could be closer than that?

Virgil groaned and laid his head on the table as he remembered what Daisy had told him once, months ago.

_“I swear, Virgil, you and Richie bicker like an old married couple sometimes.”_

He and Richie were like a married couple. A couple! But that couldn’t be right. Richie was Virgil’s best friend, not his boyfriend. Besides, Virgil liked girls. He had never doubted that. There was no way he was gay if he liked girls, right?

At this thought, another memory began to surface from when Richie came out to Virgil.

_“So, let me get this straight,” said Virgil. The boys had been in deep discussion at the Gas Station for over an hour after Richie’s announcement. “You’re saying that there are more sexualities than just being gay, straight, or bi?”_

_“Well, yeah,” Richie said with a nod. “There’s tons.”_

_“But… that makes no sense! All of your options are covered in those three categories. Either you like girls, guys, or both.”_

_“Not quite,” replied Richie, earning a confused look from Virgil. “The sexuality spectrum can be fluid, just like gender is. What if you fall in love with someone who doesn’t identify as male or female, but somewhere in between? Or if you aren’t attracted to anyone? There’s even one for if you can be emotionally attracted to someone, but not sexually attracted.”_

_Virgil’s mind reeled. “And you’ve ruled them all out?”_

_“For the most part, yes. For a while I thought I might be either bisexual or pansexual – that’s when gender doesn’t matter – but then…” Richie blushed. “Well, then I realized otherwise.”_

So maybe Virgil wasn’t straight. Maybe he was one of those sexualities that he and Richie talked about that day. Maybe he had been wrong this whole time.

But then Virgil had to ask himself: was he attracted to men? It was a simple question, and it had a simple answer when Virgil let the thought really sink into his mind about being with a guy. The slight lurching in his stomach was a resounding “no.”

So, if he wasn’t attracted to me, then why was he even stressing out over this? Virgil wracked his brain, trying to come up with an answer. The only explanation he found, however, was his dad’s words. The way Robert had said what he did to Virgil must be what had confused him. The man’s tone made it sound like he knew something Virgil didn’t.

 _Does Pops think I’m gay?_ Virgil found himself wondering. His thoughts began to continue to wander around the topic until he found himself right back where he started. With a sigh, Virgil stood up and stretched his sore neck. All of this confusion could wait until another day.

* * *

 

 

On the other side of town, Sharon found herself on the side of the road, bent over her steering wheel, crying without restraint. All of this was so much to take in. She didn’t know what to do. All she had known when she was at the hospital was that she hated it there, so she lied about an appointment she had to make and walked out of the door without a backwards glance. It was a little rude, she supposed, to walk out like that, but she simply couldn’t stay in that waiting room for another minute.

After a few minutes, her tears began to subside and Sharon found herself wondering what her next move should be. It didn’t take her long at all to decide to pay a visit to her boyfriend. His apartment wasn’t too far from where she was, and she pulled the car into the parking lot within a few minutes.

Adam,having seen Sharon from the kitchen window, was waiting at the door as she arrived with a huge smile on his face. “Hey, baby,” he said cheerfully. His face dropped, however, when he saw that she had been crying. “What’s wrong?” he asked, holding out his arms. She rushed into them as a new round of tears appeared.

“I can’t tell you,” she said. “I promised Daddy that I wouldn’t.”

Adam stroked her hair soothingly. “All right,” he said. “Well, how about you come inside and I’ll make some hot chocolate? Does that sound good?” Sharon nodded and the two stepped into the tiny apartment. While Adam went to the kitchen, Sharon curled up on the sofa in the living room and tried to stop crying again.

“Here we go,” Adam said as he entered with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. “Heated to perfection with seven mini marshmallows. Just the way my baby likes it.”

Sharon smiled. “Thank you, Adam.”

“No problem, Shar.” Adam sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Sharon curled into his side, careful to not spill her drink. “So,” said Adam softly. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but is there any way I can help?”

“It’s Richie,” Sharon blurted out. “I want to tell someone, to talk to someone about this so badly, but I promised Daddy I wouldn’t.”

“It’s all right to break promises every now and then, Sharon. Especially if something is bothering you this much.” He began to trace light patterns on her shoulder. “I haven’t seen you this upset in a long time.”

“It’s just… Everything is so scary.” A shiver ran down her spine. “I’ve never known someone who… And to think that Richie was… None of us ever expected him…” She sighed. “I just don’t know what to do, Adam! I’m afraid that if I say or do the wrong thing he’ll end up dead! He’s like my little brother. I don’t think Virgil or I could handle losing him!”

“Sharon, is Richie doing drugs?”

Sharon stared at him with wide eyes. “What?! No, of course not! How could you even think that? Richie would never–” She stopped mid-sentence when she realized what else she had thought Richie would never do. She lowered her eyes. “He’s been cutting. For years now. And he’s tried to kill himself in the past. None of us knew. No one did.” Her eyes began to water again and Adam pulled her closer.

“I honestly can’t say I’m too surprised,” said Adam, causing Sharon to give him another incredulous stare.” His behavior was so familiar.”

“Familiar? What do you mean?”

Adam sighed. The story he was about to tell was one that very few people knew about. “Sharon,” he said, staring at the wall ahead of him, “have I ever told you about when Ivan and I were kids?”

“A few stories,” she said, “but not much.”

“Well, there’s a reason for that. Our family life was very broken, to say the least. Things never seemed to go our way. I was sixteen and Ivan was nineteen when Ivan found our mother hanging from the rafters in the attic.” Sharon inhaled sharply. “We were living in the basement of one of Ivan’s friends from the gangs then. It was only a week or so later that I came home early to find him in the basement with a gun in his mouth.”

“Adam, you don’t have to–”

“I was able to stop him in time, thank God. But he was never the same afterwards. He was cold and withdrawn. Not the older brother I had grown up with. It took me a while to figure it out, but, sure enough, he had started hurting himself after I stopped him from committing suicide. Not just cutting, either. His body was full of bruises, scars, burns. Anything that caused any sort of pain, he tried it.

“I wasn’t around Richie enough to guess what was going on,” Adam continued, “but looking back. The long sleeves, the random injuries that he played off. Injuries that I _knew_ didn’t come from patrolling.” He turned to look straight into Sharon’s eyes. “If you, or Virgil for that matter, ever need someone to turn to, I will always be here for you. Richie, too. Your family has accepted me and treated me with kindness. I’ve never had that before. I want to return the favor whenever I can.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Hospital setting (including a separate treatment center, mentions of a police officer, and talk of a psychiatric hold), talk of self harm, talk of suicide.

It was almost too much for Maggie to handle when she walked into her son’s hospital room and saw him lying there. Tears welled up in her eyes yet again, but she forced them away. She had to stay strong for Richie.

“Mom!” Richie cried, shocked and slightly angry to see her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

Maggie rushed to his side and gently took his hand. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. “Robert called me and I came right away. I came right away, baby.”

Richie averted his eyes. “You should go. What time is it? Dad gets off work soon.”

“No, Richie. You need me here right now.”

He looked at her, brows furrowed. “But he’ll be mad. When you get back he’ll–”

“We’re not going back, Richie.” Maggie’s words stunned him into silence. “Robert convinced me that it was in both of our best interests that we stay with him and Virgil for a while.”

“No, we can’t!” cried Richie as he tore his hand from her grip. “He’ll find us there, and he’ll hurt them! You know he will!”

Maggie reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand. “I won’t let him near us. Any of us. Ever.”

* * *

 

Back in the waiting room, Robert and Virgil sat silently side-by-side. Virgil had been upset to see Maggie there when he first returned from the cafeteria, but seemed to soften when Robert explained the situation to him.

With a sigh, Robert cleared his throat. “Virgil, there’s something I need to tell you. The doctor came to speak with Richie’s mother and I while you were out. She said that Richie will have to be transferred to a facility that deals with this kind of stuff.”

“What do you mean?” Virgil asked. “They’ve stitched him up already, so why can’t he come home?”

“Virgil, do you know what a 5150 is?” Virgil shook his head and Robert continued. “It’s an involuntary psychiatric hold. It’s put in place when a patient is a danger to themselves, like Richie. He’ll be taken to a place called Redwood Springs, a facility especially for teens.”

Virgil was stunned. “So they’re putting him in a loony bin?!”

“No, Redwood Springs isn’t a ‘loony bin.’ It’s a facility for Richie to go to for a day or two to rest and get his thoughts together.”

“Well, why can’t he do that at home?”

“He has to, Virgil. That’s why it’s an involuntary hold. They can keep him there for up to 72 hours.”

“Three days.” Virgil leaned back in his chair and let out a breath. “He’ll be alone there?”

Robert hesitated. “There will be staff members there that are trained counselors and therapists.”

“Can I talk to him before he leaves?”

“Of course,” Robert said with a small smile.

* * *

 

“So, you’re being taken somewhere.”

“Yeah. Redwood Springs, they tell me.”

“Seems like a stupid name.”

“I guess.”

“You’ll have to see if there are actually redwoods and springs”

“Sure.”

“Are you all right?”

“Hmm?”

“You seem… distracted.”

“Oh. I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

“That makes sense.”

“It’ll all be fine thought. Right?”

“Of course.”

“…Virgil?”

“Yeah, Rich?”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. So am I.”

* * *

 

The doctors informed Richie and his family (both Foley and Hawkins alike) that the seventy-two-hour hold couldn’t start until Richie was alone. Virgil had thought it was a stupid rule, but there was nothing he could do. So everyone took a minute to talk to Richie one last time before leaving the hospital.

Once everyone left, Richie sunk into his bed. He was glad to finally be alone. As much as he loved his mom and Virgil and Mr. H, it was stressful to have them fussing over him constantly.

The night proved to be a long one. Richie had to wait hours before he could be transferred to Redwood Springs. He passed the time by sleeping when he could and letting his thoughts wander whenever he woke up. Nurses came to check on him periodically to make sure he was all right. Between that and the automatic blood pressure cuff that went off every thirty minutes, Richie didn’t get much sleep.

It was seven in the morning the next day when a nurse woke Richie to tell him that the ambulance was there to take him. He tried to tell them that he could walk to the ambulance, but they insisted on strapping him to a stretcher.

The ride across town wasn’t too eventful. The paramedics were kind to him and didn’t seem to judge him, which Richie greatly appreciated. The last thing he wanted anyone to do was treat him like he could break at any moment. He wasn’t fragile. If he was, he never would have made it this far.

At Redwood Springs, he was taken to a small room with a few armchairs and a computer. A woman gestured for Richie to sit, so he did. She sat at the computer while another staff member went through the bag Robert had brought to the hospital for him.

“All right, Richard,” said the lady at the computer. “I’ll need to ask you a few questions before we take you to get settled.”

Richie cleared his throat. “It’s Richie. I don’t like my full name.”

She nodded and typed something into the computer. “So first, I’ll need all of your parents’ information. Address, phone numbers, jobs. Things like that.”

Richie gave her all of the information she asked for. While he spoke, he watched his things being sorted through out of the corner of his eye. The worker pulled out Richie’s sneakers to look at the laces, then placed them in a separate bag, along with Richie’s belt.

“Okay,” said the lady, bringing Richie’s attention back. “I need to ask you a few questions about what happened yesterday.”

Richie sighed. “Fire away.” He wondered how many more times he would have to talk about it.

“You cut yourself on purpose.” She phrased it as a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“Were you trying to kill yourself?”

“No.”

She continued to ask her questions and Richie responded with as few words as possible. She tried to get him to say more, but he refused. Who was she to be asking about his personal life? He didn’t even know this woman, and yet she already knew all about everything he had kept secret for so long.

The man going through his things cleared his throat and held up Richie’s green and orange hoodie. It had been washed over the weekend – by who, Richie didn’t know – and the bloodstains on the sleeve were gone. “We can’t let you have the string in the hood. The only way you can use it is if we take that out.”

“Why can’t you just leave it in?” Richie asked. “It’s not like I’m going to kill myself with it or anything.”

“Sorry, kid, but it’s the rules.”

* * *

 

The facility was a _lot_ nicer than Richie imagined. He had been expecting the stereotypical white hallways and echoing screams, coupled with plenty of stretchers with restraints and meds galore. On the contrary, there were a few separate buildings, along with a basketball court and a brightly colored courtyard. When Richie had been led inside one of the buildings, he found that nothing was as he had expected. There was a small, open kitchen stocked with snacks, a table where another staff member sat reading a book, and a living room area with couches and shelf after shelf of books. In addition to the common areas, there were 4 bedrooms, which each contained a fold-out couch.

The staff member set down his book when Richie walked in and smiled. “Hey there,” he said. “My name is Henry.”

“Richie.”

“Nice to meet you Richie,” said Henry brightly. “Welcome to Redwood Springs. This building isn’t too big, so you can see what we’ve got here. Feel free to raid the kitchen for snacks at any time. The book room is available for you whenever you want, and the couches are really comfortable. The bathroom is right over there, but just let me know when you go in, since I have to keep an eye on everyone. Lastly, we’ve got our bedrooms. Two are occupied right now, so you’ve got a limited choice.”

Richie blinked. “I have a choice?”

“Of course you do!” Henry said with a chuckle. “Most people think we’re some strict mental hospital here, but that’s not how we roll. We’re just a place for teenagers to come and rest for a day or two. You can do whatever you want here, to some extent. The only mandatory thing is you need to take some time to talk with me or one of the other counselors so that we can try to figure out a solution to your situation.”

Richie,” Richie said as he tried to not roll his eyes. Another adult who just wanted to talk. “Well, in that case, I think I’ll go sleep for a while. I’m pretty tired.”

“Of course, of course! I’ll be here if you need anything.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Talk of self harm, talk of abuse, rude language, racism, use of a racist slur, talk of suicide, homophobia.

School was the last place Virgil wanted to be on Tuesday. He had tried every trick in the book to stay home, but Robert had seen right through his excuses. So, Virgil found himself trying to take notes on Spanish verbs in first period.

As he was writing down the conjugations of the word _estar_ , a slip of paper was slid onto his desk. He glanced to his right and saw Freida writing furiously in her notebook. She paused and looked at him, and then gestured to the note. Virgil quickly unfolded it.

 _Where’s Richie?_ Freida’s handwriting flowed across the page.

Virgil scrawled out his response ( _Not here_ ) and passed the paper back. It was soon returned with more writing.

_I can see that. Where is he?_

_Like I said, not here._

_I understand that, Virgil Hawkins. Is he sick? He left early yesterday._

_You could say that he’s sick, yeah._

_What do you mean? Is he hurt?_

_I can’t tell you._

_What do you mean you can’t tell me? He’s my friend too, you know!_

_I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone._

_Oh… All right then… But he’s okay, right?_

_He will be. Eventually._

* * *

 

Virgil was able to avoid any other confrontation until lunchtime. He had been sitting in a secluded part of the library when Shenice stalked up to him.

“All right, I have a few questions for you, mister,” she said, hands on her hips.

With a groan, Virgil rubbed his forehead. “Not now, Shenice, okay? I’m really tired.”

“Nuh-uh. You’re going to answer me.”

Virgil sighed. To say that Shenice was as stubborn as a mule would be putting it lightly, and he wasn’t in the mood to argue with her. “All right, all right. What do you want to know?”

“Why am I still watching the city for you and Richie? When you called on Friday, you said it would only be for the weekend!” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I mean, I’ve got the Nightbreed helping me out and everything, especially with Ebon and his crew, but it’s hard to protect an entire city by myself!”

“Believe me,” Virgil said sincerely, “I know it is. Who was there to help me before Gear came along? And I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you, but Richie isn’t really in the right state of mind to be helping right now, and I don’t want to leave him alone while I’m out on patrol.”

“Well, you two better get your act together soon, because my parents are dragging me to some science convention this weekend.” Shenice rolled her eyes. “Not to mention that it’s getting harder and harder to convince Fade to let the Nightbreed help me out.”

“Wait, you’re leaving? But I don’t know if Richie will be out of the–” Virgil cut himself off and closed his eyes. Shenice’s demeanor softened as she realized what he was going to say.

“He’s in the hospital, isn’t he?” She sat down next to him. “Is he all right? Was it a bang baby?”

“No, it’s… It’s something completely different.”

Shenice leaned over and gave him a hug. “All right. I’ll see what I can do about staying home this weekend. No guarantees, though. You’ve seen how my parents are.” They both chuckled. “Tell Richie I’ll be sending good thoughts his way and that I hope he gets better soon so his sorry ass can take back his job!”

Virgil laughed and they both stood when the bell rang.

“Thanks, Shenice,” he said. “I needed a smile.”

* * *

 

After leaving the hospital the previous night, Robert had insisted that Maggie spend the night with the Hawkins. It had taken a little convincing for her to agree, but once she realized how furious Shawn would be, she readily accepted. Robert had lent her a pair of Jean’s old pajamas and she spent the night on the couch.

In the morning, after Virgil and Sharon both left, Robert offered to go with her to the house to get some of her and Richie’s things.

“On, no, no, it’s fine, Robert,” she said. “Shawn will be at work now, so I can just pop in and out. There’s no need for you to waste your time.”

“Oh, it’s no waste of time. Believe me; I’d feel a lot better if I went with you. Just in case, you know?”

Maggie smiled and shook her head good-naturedly. “All right, if you insist.”

They both rode in Robert’s car in silence. When they pulled up to the house, Maggie inhaled sharply.

“That’s Shawn’s truck,” she said. “God, he must be expecting me to come.”

Robert opened his door and got out of the car. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You just get upstairs and grab your things, and I’ll talk to Shawn.”

They walked up to the door, which Maggie unlocked with shaking hands. When they entered, Shawn was nowhere to be seen. Maggie moved to go upstairs, but Robert gestured to let him go first. It seemed to be a mutual agreement to stay as silent as possible.

When they reached the master bedroom, Robert opened the door to reveal Shawn sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. When he heard the door open, he looked up and narrowed his eyes at the sight of Robert.

“You brought one into our home, Maggie?” His voice was surprisingly calm. “I bet you slept with him last night, didn’t you, you fucking whore.”

Robert heard Maggie let out a terrified squeak behind him. “Maggie,” he said without taking his eyes off of Shawn, “Get your things.”

Shawn stood up and took a step forward. “Don’t you dare tell my wife what to do.”

“I think she can decide for herself, don’t you?”

Maggie darted between the two men and began frantically throwing belongings into a duffel bag.

“What the fuck is going on here?!” Shawn bellowed. He turned towards Maggie, his fists clenched, but Robert stepped between them.

“No. No, there will be none of that in my presence,” he said calmly. “If you want to hit something, feel free to pick a wall or pillow, but I simply will not let you lay a hand on this woman.”

Shawn snarled. “Why you mother-fucking nigger! You dare to have the balls to say that to me in my own home?!”

“I believe a more fitting word would be ‘audacity,’ and I happen to find the ‘n-word’ to be particularly offensive.”

Shawn was shaking with rage. Robert could almost see the steam coming from his ears. “Get out of my house!” he yelled. “Get out before I call the cops on your black ass and have you arrested for breaking and entering!”

“Well, I doubt that your claim would hold up in court since Maggie let me in.” Robert shrugged. “And – if I recall correctly, that is – breaking and entering requires some sort of lock-picking or property damage, of which I have done neither.”

Maggie appeared next to Robert, having finished gathering her things. When Shawn turned his gaze on her, she flinched and stepped behind Robert.

“Are you done here?” Robert asked Maggie. She nodded weakly. “All right, go get Richie’s things.”

She fled from the room. Shawn went to follow her, but Robert stepped in front of him again.

“I think you and I need to have a talk,” he snapped. “I know that you’ve been hitting both Maggie and Richie, along with God knows what other kind of abuse.”

“That is none of your–”

“Please,” Robert cut off his protests. “I’m speaking to you. Did you know that your son has been cutting himself for almost three years now? He’s currently in the hospital with stitches after passing out from blood loss yesterday in the bathroom at the Burger Fool. Any time someone even mentions your name, his face pales and he starts to shake without even realizing it. He’s terrified of you, Shawn! And for good reason, too! He tells me you’ve broken bones!” Robert shook his head in disgust. “How could you even think of doing that? Children look to their parents for love and guidance! Can you even imagine how terrible it would feel to think that your own father doesn’t love you?!”

A tap on his shoulder knocked him from his rant. When he looked into Maggie’s frightened face, he realized he had been shouting. He took a step back.

“Shawn,” Maggie said softly. “I’m leaving. I can’t let you hurt us anymore.” She sniffed as tears ran down her face. “I’m sorry that it’s taken me this long. I’ll be better this way, though. For all of us.”

Shawn sunk down to sit on the bed again. He lowered his eyes to the floor. “Maggie, I… I’m sorry,” he said. “Please. You know I love you and Richie. I just… I just have bad days. You know that, Mags. You know I’m a good person. Please, don’t leave me.”

Maggie turned and walked out of the bedroom. Robert followed her downstairs, one of the two bags she had packed in his hand. Shawn didn’t move.

At the front door, Maggie hesitated for a moment with her hand on the knob. She closed her eyes and let her mind absorb what she just did. She took a deep breath.

“Goodbye, Shawn,” she whispered. The door opened silently and she stepped out into the sunlight.

* * *

 

Virgil knew that he should have stayed home. He knew it. It had proven to be a rough day in general, but his fifth period Psychology class was the icing on the cake. The class was in their unit on mental health and disorders, and today just so happened to be the day that they watched a particularly graphic movie about self harm.

About twenty minutes into the film, Virgil couldn’t take it anymore and asked to be excused. He went out into the hallway and only made it a few feet before leaning against the wall and sinking to the floor. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, trying to get his stomach to stop lurching and his body to stop shaking.

“Virgil?” Daisy’s voice caused Virgil to jump and snap his eyes open. She stood a few feet away, one hand reaching towards him. “Virgil, are you all right? You darted out of there pretty quickly.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “I just needed some fresh air.”

“Are you sure? You don’t look too good.”

Virgil waved his hand dismissively. “It must have just been the cafeteria food again.”

Daisy kneeled next to him and gently rested her hand on his knee. “Virgil, I know for a fact that you didn’t even eat lunch, let alone the school food.”

“What are you talking about? I ate. I had… pizza. Pepperoni pizza.”

“Virgil, pizza wasn’t on the menu today.”

Virgil sighed. Daisy had caught him in his lie and they both knew it. “All right, I didn’t eat lunch. The movie just upset me, okay?”

Daisy raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you squeamish about blood? That can’t be it.” She scooted closer and leaned against the wall, so that their sides were touching, and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Come on. Something’s bothering you. I can tell.”

Virgil took a shuddering breath, trying to keep his composure. Enough people have found out. This was Richie’s secret, and he didn’t want to spill the beans to every person in the planet. But when Daisy gently squeezed his shoulder, his resolve broke. He sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“Richie’s been cutting,” he said softly. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone. I promised. But he’s in the hospital. And that movie was just too much.”

“Oh, my God,” Daisy said in a hushed tone. “Jesus, no wonder you ran out like that.”

“Everything just happened so quickly. It was only Friday when I found out, and then he told me about all this trouble he’s been having at home, so he was gonna stay with us for a while. Then yesterday we get into an argument – a stupid one, really – and he runs off. Next thing I know, I’m pulled out of Physics by Sharon and told that he was found in a bathroom in a pool of blood. I just don’t know what to do, Daisy.” He leaned his head back against the wall to stare at the ceiling.

Daisy was at a loss for words. “It’ll be all right, Virgil,” she said. “Now that people know about it and can help him, Richie will be able to start getting better. He’s got you as your best friend, and I know that you’ll be with him every step of the way.”

“Of course I will. There’s no way I’d let him go through this alone.”

“Then make sure he knows that. Tell him he has plenty of friends who love him, like me and Freida and Nina, and that we’ll still love him, no matter what.”

Virgil nodded slowly. “I’ll tell him.” He pulled away from her slightly and drew his knees to his chest. His forehead came to rest on his kneecaps. “I think I should go to the nurse. I have a terrible headache now.”

“Virgil?”

He lifted his head up.

“You know, if you ever need someone to talk to,” Daisy said, “I’m always here for you. I’m a good listener.”

Virgil smiled. “Thanks, Dais. I appreciate it.”

“I mean it,” she said, as she shifted back to a kneeling position again and leaned forward a little. “You’re one of my closest friends, Virgil.”

And then, just like that, Daisy kept leaning forward and her lips were suddenly on his, and everything just felt wrong. He pushed her away and scooted back a foot or two, eyes wide.

“What the fuck was that?!”

Daisy wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have–”

“Damn right you shouldn’t have!” Virgil stood up and rubbed his forehead again. “Listen, I like you. A lot. I really do, Daisy. And if that had happened last week, I would have never hesitated in kissing you back, but after everything that’s happened this weekend,” he sighed, “it’s just not a good time. You understand, right, Dais?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it,” her response was soft and she stared at the floor. “Bad timing. Sure.”

Virgil excused himself and Daisy watched him walk down the hallway towards the nurse’s office. She sighed and hung her head. When he was out of sight, she stood and went back into the classroom.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Self harm (burning), talk of self harm (cutting)

“You do it,” Richie said to Virgil. They were both standing in the bathroom, staring down at a single blade sitting in the toilet. Richie folded his arms and bit his lip. “You flush it. I can’t.”

Virgil reached out and pressed the lever down, causing the blade to swirl down the drain. Richie sighed and closed his eyes. He knew it was all for the best, but it was still hard to see his last razor, his last lifeline, disappear forever.

When he was at Redwood Springs, everyone there had told him to get rid of his tools. With the image of his mangled and bloody arm still fresh in his mind, he had agreed. Now that he was finally home, however, all he wanted to do was hide everything and let his life just go back to the way it was.

His mom and Mr. Hawkins, on the other hand, had a different plan. They had made it abundantly clear that the situation was not going to be ignored. When they came to pick him up on Thursday evening, the counselors at Redwood Springs had given them plenty of tips and ideas. So a toolbox and a padlock were purchased to house all the sharp objects and medications, and a therapist was found for Richie. His first appointment was scheduled for the next day, Saturday, in the afternoon.

Virgil and Richie left the bathroom and went into the bedroom they were now officially sharing. Richie worked on unpacking more of his things and Virgil sat down at his desk to work on all of the homework he had neglected over the past week.

“So, I’m curious,” Richie said as he folded a pair of pants and put them in his drawer. “You haven’t been going out on patrol this whole time, right? How’d you manage to pull that off?”

“I got Shenice to take over for a bit,” Virgil replied. “She convinced the Nightbreed to help her out and they’ve been taking care of the city.”

“Really? You would think that Fade wouldn’t go for that.”

“Yeah, she said he was pretty iffy about it. But I’m gonna head back out this weekend because she’s heading out of town.”

“Oh, all right. You want me to take the morning or afternoon patrol?”

Virgil paused. All week, he had known this conversation was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. “Listen, Rich,” he said. “I think I’ll take this weekend by myself. I mean, you really shouldn’t be out there, especially with those stitches still in your arm. All it would take is one blow and they could get ripped out.”

Richie turned to look at Virgil with an incredulous look on his face. “You want me to stay home? What kind of logic is that?! You think I haven’t patrolled with stitches before?!” Virgil flinched and opened his mouth to speak, but Richie cut him off. “Being on patrol is pretty much the only thing that distracts me enough to forget about wanting to cut, and you’re not gonna _let me?!”_

“That’s not what I meant,” Virgil said as he stood up from his desk. “I’m just saying–”

“No, that’s exactly what you’re saying! I knew this would happen as soon as anyone found out about this. You’re treating me like a child! Like I could fall apart at any moment!”

“You know as well as I do that you could, Richie! Look at yourself!” He gestured to Richie, who had one hand tangled in his hair and a small clump of blond strands in the other. “You’re literally tearing your own hair out and you don’t even notice!”

Richie untangled his fingers and glared at the hair in his hand.

“It’s not safe for you to go out there,” Virgil said. “And I bet Pops and your mom would agree. I hate it as much as you do, but you need to realize that you’re not mentally stable right now, Richie.” Virgil reached over and gently tipped Richie’s hand, letting the hair fall to the floor.

“I don’t need your permission to do my job,” Richie said quietly. “You can’t tell me what to do.” He pulled his hand from Virgil’s grasp and walked towards the door.

“Richie, wait,” Virgil pleaded.

“No. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“C’mon, man, I just–”

Richie spun to face Virgil. “I’m done with this conversation,” he said angrily. “I’m going downstairs to try to watch TV or something, even though I know it won’t work because the only things that have ever helped me when I’m like this are patrolling, which you won’t let me do; inventing, which my mom most likely won’t go for; or cutting, which I obviously can’t do. So instead, I’m going to sit there with my brain on turbo drive, as usual, trying to calm down and ignore the fact that Backpack could easily pick the lock on that toolbox downstairs that’s supposed to keep me from cutting.”

“I’m sorry, Richie, but I just–”

Richie sighed. “Listen, V. I’m not mad at you. Well, I am, but I’m more frustrated than anything. This whole week has been chaotic and nothing like how I expected it to go. But I’ll cool off eventually. I promise.” He tried to manage a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. With another sigh, he said, “I’ll be downstairs,” and left the room.

* * *

 

The plan to watch TV lasted about five minutes before Richie found himself fidgeting and not paying attention. Just the knowledge that he wasn’t allowed to cut made him want to do it that much more. He hated this. He had been managing everything perfectly fine until Virgil screwed everything up the week before. Sure, his arms had been mangled and he was constantly hit and yelled at by his dad, but he had everything under control.

“Who am I kidding?” Richie muttered under his breath as he slumped down on the couch. He needed help. He didn’t particularly want it, but he knew that if he kept going the way he was, he probably wouldn’t even make it to graduation in the spring. Whether it was on purpose or accident, he would have died. He knew that all of that was true, but kept trying to deny the fact that he was one fucked up teenager.

Richie’s thoughts began to race. Faster and faster, they swirled around his brain until he eventually found himself lost in a spiral of remembering all of the mistakes he had made.

_Six years old. It was the first time Richie was hit by his dad because he threw a temper tantrum. Eight years old. His dad sent him to bed without dinner for an entire week because he cried when he fell out of a tree and sprained his wrist. Twelve years old. He was hospitalized with two broken ribs from his dad kicking him because he mentioned a boy at school that he thought he had a crush on. Fifteen years old. His mom just watched as Shawn beat Richie to a pulp because he came out as gay._

By the end of the painful flashback, Richie was curled up into a ball on the couch and shaking violently. His body ached with injuries that had long since healed, and he found himself scratching desperately at his arm. He stopped scratching and wrapped his arms around his legs. Richie rested his forehead on his kneecaps and began to take deep breaths to calm the nausea churning in his stomach. The taste of bile stung the back of his throat and he struggled to keep his breakfast down.

From the kitchen, Maggie entered. She immediately noticed her son and sat down next to him. “What’s wrong, Richie?” she asked, placing a gentle hand on his back. “Are you all right?”

“I screw everything up,” Richie mumbled into his lap. “Everything I do always falls to shit and hurts the people around me.” He clenched his hands into fists to keep from scratching at his wounds again.

“Oh, honey,” Maggie sighed. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true. You don’t screw everything up. Sure, everyone makes mistakes, but you’ve done so many wonderful things.” She smiled fondly. “I was just thinking the other day about that beautiful card you gave me for Mother’s Day in the 3rd grade. Remember?”

“I was eight, mom,” Richie said coldly, “And Dad got mad because I included Virgil’s name on the card because he didn’t have a mom to make a card for that year.” He lifted his head and stared lifelessly at the TV. “Why did he do it?” he asked quietly. “I don’t understand. What did I do wrong? What should I have done differently to get dad to love me?”

“He did love you, sweetheart,” Maggie said. She rubbed his back and shoulder. “He loved you so very much.”

“No. He didn’t. A loving parent doesn’t hit their kid like he did. I’m old enough to know that now. Parents aren’t supposed to break bones and kick their kids out. It’s not right.”

“Richie, your father loves you. I promise. He just has–”

“Issues. Right. You’ve said that before,” Richie said harshly. “Why are you sticking up for him again? Did I miss something while I was off at the loony bin? Did dad come by and apologize profusely for everything and beg for you to come home? Because I think–”

“What your father did was wrong,” Maggie said, interrupting Richie. “He made very poor decisions. But we’re going to make sure he gets some help with his drinking and anger problems. And then, as soon as he’s better, we can all be one big happy family again.” She smiled. “How does that sound?”

Richie’s eyes were wide and his mouth was agape. “How does that _sound?_ That sounds like the worst fucking idea on the planet!” He completely ignored Maggie’s stern, _“Watch your language, mister,”_ and continued. “Whatever happened to us never going back there? You promised me that you won’t let him near us! There’s no way he’ll ever ‘get better,’ as you call it. He’ll always be this stubborn, ignorant prick who doesn’t deserve to fucking _live!”_

“Richard Osgood Foley, I cannot believe you just said that!” Maggie stood and crossed her arms, switching into full Mom Mode. “You know how I feel about swearing, and I simply will _not_ tolerate you talking about your father in that manner!”

“But it’s all true!” Richie cried desperately. He jumped up from the couch. “How can you be in denial about it?! Not even five days ago, you agreed with me!”

“I never–”

“He’s not sick, mom! He’s a twisted human being who finds pleasure in hurting others! No one can help him! He needs to be locked up before he can hurt anyone else!”

“What’s going on down here?” Robert called as he walked down the stairs.

Richie whirled towards him. “She’s taking his side!” he said furiously before Maggie could speak. “She’s taking his side and she won’t listen to me!”

“Is that true, Maggie?”

“Of course not, Robert, I would never–”

She was interrupted by the front door slamming shut as Richie raced outside and down the street. He ran as fast as he could, only slowing to make sure he was still on the right path to get to the gas station. He wanted to flee, to run away from everything.

* * *

 

When he reached the gas station, Richie locked the door behind him and went straight to the bottom drawer of his desk. He groped inside blindly, but only when he pulled back empty-handed did he remember that Virgil had thrown out all of his blades.

He cried out in frustrated and slammed the drawer shut. His eyes darted about the room, looking for something – anything – sharp enough to pierce his skin. Virgil had done a good job of getting rid of everything, though, and Richie found himself prying off a board from the windows and plucking a shard of glass from the broken panes that they never got around to replacing.

Hands shaking, he pulled up his sleeve and laid the glass over his skin. He hesitated. He had promised Virgil that he wouldn’t do this anymore. And if there was anything that he never wanted see again, it was Virgil’s face when he found out that Richie had cut.

With a groan, Richie let the piece of glass fall from his fingers, where it clattered onto his desk. He sunk down into his chair and rubbed his temples. The urge to cut was still painfully present, and Richie knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He began to pick at his healing wounds, which helped a little, but not enough. His heart began to pound and the shaking in his hands worsened.

Slowly, his eyes shifted to the Bunsen burner sitting on his desk. An idea quickly formed in his head. Before he knew it, Richie had switched the gas on, lit the burner, and had his armed immersed in the blue flame. The pain was instantaneous and caused him to jerk his hand back and close his eyes. He let the strong stinging sensation wash throughout his body and felt himself begin to relax at last.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here.”

Richie didn’t even stir at Virgil’s familiar voice. “I didn’t cut,” he said plainly. “You can be as mad as you want, but I didn’t cut.”

“I know you didn’t, Rich, and I’m not mad.”

“You should be. Burning’s just as bad as cutting, if not worse. I’ve heard it’s more addictive.”

Virgil walked over to where Richie was sitting, blew out the flame on the burner, and switched the gas off. He leaned against the desk. “I’m sorry for hurting your feelings this morning. I never meant to make you upset. But I really don’t think you’re up for going out on patrol.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m worried about you, Richie.” Virgil reached out and gently took Richie’s arm. He had burned his right arm, to avoid the stitches in his left. There weren’t many fresh cuts on it, but there was already a bright red mark, about an inch and a half in diameter, forming from the burn. “I hate seeing you like this, man.”

“You think I don’t hate it too?” Richie opened his eyes, yanked his arm back, and glared at Virgil. “You think I _like_ having to resort to this? It makes me feel weak. And pathetic. But I can’t stop! It’s as bad as a drug. Worse, maybe. Before I did it, I was shaking and my heart was pounding and it felt like I couldn’t breathe or think. I tried to ignore it, Virgil, I really did.” He sighed.

“I know you did,” Virgil replied. “I don’t doubt that. I can see how much you hate it. If you liked it, then you wouldn’t be trying this hard to stop.”

“I just want everything to be okay. I want to feel normal again.”

“We’re getting there, Rich. It’s only a matter of time.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Talk of abuse

Before she knocked on the door, Liz Anderson took a deep breath and tried to smooth the ever-present wrinkles from her clothes. She was meeting with Shawn Foley to discuss his son, and had gotten plenty of warnings about his temper. She’d dealt with similar cases before, though, and hopefully things would go smoothly. The best case scenario would have Shawn admitting to abusing Richie and agreeing to go to court to decide his punishment. The worst case scenario, however, could end in any number of ways, including, but not limited to, anger, verbal abuse, or even physical violence.

Liz shook her head to clear it and knocked. The door opened to reveal a tall, heavyset man who almost filled up the entire doorway. “Mr. Foley,” she said with a cordial smile. “My name is Elizabeth, and I work with Child Protective Services. I’m here to discuss your son.”

Shawn’s heart skipped a beat, but he managed to hide his fear. He had a feeling that this day was coming sooner or later, and he had a story all prepared. “You mean you found him?!” he asked, feigning happiness. “Oh, thank God! I’ve been looking for him since he ran away last Friday!”

Liz raised an eyebrow. “Do you mind if I come in, sir? We have quite a bit to talk about.”

* * *

 

Richie could hardly focus. He kept finding himself staring out the window, wishing he was flying through the air with Virgil, instead of sitting in a stuffy office. He didn’t want to tell a stranger every single one of his personal thoughts.

“Richie, are you still with me?”

He turned back towards the therapist. Her name was Abigail, and she had short, brown hair. Her eyes were a light hazel color, with a golden tint. Her voice sounded familiar, but Richie couldn’t figure out where he had heard it previously.

“I’d like to talk about what happened on Monday,” Abigail said. “I’ve been told a general overview of what happened, but I’d like to hear it straight from you.”

“What else is there to tell? I was upset, so I cut because I can’t control it. Plain and simple.”

“Well, why were you upset in the first place? Knowing that can really help us get a sense on what triggered you and how to avoid it in the future.”

Richie scoffed. “My best friend and I had an argument. And I doubt I’ll be able to avoid it because he’s as stubborn as a mule and refuses to let this go.”

Abigail tilted her head. “Let what go?”

“The… disagreement we had.”

“If you tell me what your disagreement was about, I might be able to help.” She smiled. “You know, the whole third party thing.”

“I’d rather not,” Richie said as he turned to stare out the window again.

“Look, Richie,” Abigail said after a minute of silence. “I know you’re not excited about having to meet with me, but I can promise you that my only goal is to help you.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says,” Richie retorted without taking his gaze from the window. “It’s for your own good. I’m only doing this to help you. You’ll thank me in the end. Yeah, I’ve heard them all.”

“What do you think when someone says that to you?”

He stared at his lap. “I feel like a child. Like I don’t _know_ anything. Like I’m stupid, or an idiot. Like everyone thinks they know what’s good for me.”

“Has it crossed your mind that some of them do?”

“No, I never thought of that,” Richie said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. “Of course I know that. It’s just not true. How can anyone besides myself know what’s best for me?”

“Give me an example. What are some issues you don’t agree with?”

“Well, cutting, for one.”

“What about it?”

“Everyone tells me it’s bad for me, but how can something so bad feel so good? I mean, I know all about pain releasing endorphins and all the science shit, of course, but if it’s helping me stay sane, why should I stop?”

Abigail pursed her lips. As happy as she was about Richie opening up to her, she had to be careful about what she said and how she said it. “Walk me through your emotions,” she said. “From the moment you decide to cut, how do you typically feel?”

“Well… I’m normally upset before I do it,” Richie explained after a moment’s hesitation. “Angry, or anxious, or something. It reaches a peak when I’m searching for a tool.” His voice wavered slightly, causing him to blush. When he looked down, his hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists to hide it. “Then when I… when I cut… It’s just this peaceful feeling. It’s like everything else just stops.”

“What about afterward?” Abigail prompted. “That peacefulness must die down sooner or later.”

Richie closed his eyes. “After I cut… it’s just… I mean… it feels like…” He groaned and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“It doesn’t feel too good, does it?” Abigail asked softly. Richie shook his head in response. “I’m gonna bet that you feel guilty. Maybe even a little ashamed?”

“Guilty. Ashamed. Disgusting,” he whispered. “Hopeless. Out of control.”

“Wouldn’t you like to stop feeling like that?” He nodded, still staring at the floor. “Then you’re gonna have to work with us – all of us – to help you stop cutting. Can you do that?”

Richie hesitated. Could he?

“Richie?”

He looked up at her. “No. I can’t.”

* * *

 

When Richie and Maggie returned home, Richie went upstairs almost immediately. His mom had asked question after question about the appointment on the drive home, and he was about ready to claw his ears off. He hoped that doing some Physics homework might finally give him a break from everything.

Richie sat down at the desk in Virgil’s empty room. He figured that Virgil must still be out on patrol, though he was due home any minute. As Richie worked on the last assignment he had received, his mind wandered, no matter how hard he tried to stop it. After an uncharacteristic two whole minutes of staring at a single problem, Richie threw his pencil to the desk and shoved his papers away from him. With a groan, he laid his head on the desk, using his still-sore arms as a pillow.

That was how Virgil found him fifteen minutes later when he got home from patrol. When he entered the room and saw Richie, he paused briefly before tiptoeing across the room, thinking his friend was sleeping.

“You don’t have to be quiet,” Richie said, his words slightly muffled by his arms. “I’m not asleep.”

Virgil set his backpack down and sat on his bed to take off his shoes. “How did the appointment go?”

“Ugh. Don’t ask.”

With a small smile, Virgil stood and began to stretch his aching muscles. “That bad, huh? Did she ask all of those, ‘How did that make you feel?’ questions?”

“In less words, but yes.” Richie sat up and turned to face Virgil. “It’s crazy, though. Her voice sounds so familiar, but I just can’t place where I’ve heard it.”

“What do you mean you can’t place it?” Virgil asked as he massaged a particularly painful spot on his shoulder. “That brain of yours knows everything and anything. Not to mention the near photographic memory you’ve gotten.”

Richie shrugged. “It’s not the first time this has happened. When things are really crazy like this my brain has a habit of just cooling off for a while. Gotta admit, it’s kind of nice to feel like a normal human being for a few days, but I wish I could at least still remember how to solve my stupid Physics homework.”

Virgil raised one eyebrow in confusion and plopped back down onto the bed. “Let me get this straight. Your powers are gone – or at least weak – because of, what, stress? And it’s happened before? And it just goes away on its own?”

“Within a few days, yeah. Once it took a little longer and I was so desperate that I almost took a whiff of the bang baby gas that I’ve got at the gas station to jump start it.”

“This is pretty big, Rich,” Virgil said. “You’ve got no idea why it does this? Have you looked into it at all when your powers are at a hundred percent?”

“I mean, a little bit, but it’s hard. I mean, I can run the tests on myself in ten minutes when I’m at full power, but when I’m like this,” he gestured to the unfinished Physics homework, “I can’t analyze the data like I need to. It just sits around till my brain comes back, which ends up giving me an improper reading.” Richie ran a hand through his hair, but when he noticed Virgil focusing on the action, he pulled it back and rolled his eyes. “I’m not pulling my hair, V. I get it. You’re worried about me. But I’m no different than I was two weeks ago. Why can’t things just go back to normal?”

“But things _aren’t_ normal,” Virgil insisted. “I don’t know if they will be again. I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again: you’re my best friend, and I’m always going to worry about you for whatever reason. And right now, that reason is you hurting yourself. I’m sorry if it annoys you, but I’m not sorry for worrying.”

Richie took a deep breath. He didn’t want this to escalate into another fight with Virgil. Not again. It seemed like they could hardly be in the same room lately without arguing. “Whatever. Can we just, like, not talk about this now? I don’t want to argue with you again.”

“All right.”

They were both quiet for a moment.

“Were you the one who washed my hoodie before bringing it to the hospital the other day?” Richie asked softly.

“Yeah,” replied Virgil with a nod. “I figured it was the least I could do after making you go through all that.”

Richie’s eyes widened. “What? You didn’t ‘make me’ cut myself, Virgil!”

“But if I had just–”

“Stop! Please don’t think it’s your fault, because it’s not. It’s me and how screwed up I am.”

“But, Richie–”

Richie held up a hand to stop him. “Virgil. It’s nice to know that you really care about me, but it’s not your fault. Please, _please_ know that.”

“I know,” Virgil said with a sigh. “I really do. But you know how I am. I feel like it’s my job to protect the people around me. That’s the whole reason why I do this whole superhero thing. And so when something happens to the people I love, I feel like I should have prevented it in some way.”

“Dude. I get it. You’re not the only superhero in the room,” Richie said with a smile. “But it’s honestly not your fault at all. And I’m going to keep saying that until it gets through your thick skull. Because it’s true.”

“I just feel like there should have been some sort of sign that I should have seen.”

Richie shook his head. “There wasn’t, I promise. I made absolutely sure that there was no way for anyone to know, and it worked for three years. I had it down to a science.” He sighed. “You know, I bet that was why I fucked up last Friday. With my mind in the slow lane, I wasn’t thinking right.” He thumped his hand on the desk in frustration. “God, how did I ever function as a normal person?”

“I hate to break it to you, Rich, but you’ve never been normal.” Virgil grinned and tossed a pillow at his friend, causing Richie to laugh.

“That’s for fucking sure.”

Richie tossed the pillow back to Virgil and accidentally hit him in the face. Virgil quickly declared war, and the two, each armed with two pillows, began a battle of feathers and laughter.

* * *

 

Downstairs, Robert smiled at the sound of the boys’ happiness. It brought back memories of when they were little. Every now and then, Richie would spend the night, and their giggles would echo throughout the house for hours. Sharon would always complain that the boys were too loud, or too hyper, or just plain annoying, but Robert and Jean loved to have the activity in the house.

Robert was torn from his memories by the phone ringing. He stood and walked into the kitchen, where Maggie was sorting through some papers she had managed to grab from her house when they had gone to get her things. Robert picked up the phone and turned his back to Maggie in order to give them both a little privacy.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Hawkins? It’s Liz Anderson, from CPS. We met last week.”

“Of course, Liz. How can I help you?”

“Do you mind if I come over? There are some things I need to discuss with you and Mrs. Foley.”

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, Liz, Maggie, and Robert were all seated at the kitchen table. Liz’s face was serious, which made Maggie nervous.

“I spoke with your husband today, Mrs. Foley,” Liz began, “and while I can’t legally tell you what he said, I _can_ tell you that he did not admit to any sort of abuse towards Richie. He also had a fairly transparent cover story as to why you and Richie weren’t home.”

“How is he?” Maggie asked.

“He was sober, as far as I could tell, but most likely hung over. He claimed to be very worried about Richie.”

Maggie’s mouth turned up into a small smile and she folded her hands together on the table.

“Where do we go from here?” questioned Robert. “If he didn’t admit to the abuse, what happens?”

“I first suggest that you hire a lawyer, because it’s very likely that this will go to court.”

“No. No, we can’t go to court,” Maggie said. “I don’t want our personal family business to be just another case for law students to study.”

Liz furrowed her brow. “Ma’am, we’re talking about the welfare of your son. It’s time for you to decide who you love more: your husband, or your child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha yes i am terrible at uploading chapters i already have written oh my gosh but thanks to the last reviewer bc that definitely reminded me that i hadn't uploaded these chapters. anyway, only a few left! enjoy!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Talk of sexuality (shouldn’t be anything triggering), use of a homophobic slur

_Ring, ring. Ring, ring._

“Hello?”

“Bridget? It’s Maggie.”

“Oh, my God! I haven’t heard from you in ages, sis! How are you? How’s little Richie? Jesus, he has to be, what, sixteen now? Seventeen? All grown up now, huh, Mags?”

Maggie sighed and rubbed her forehead. Her sister had always been a chatterbox, leaving no room for anyone to interject.

“I miss you so much, little sis,” Bridget continued. “When are you coming to visit me? I get lonely all by myself in lonesome Minnesota, you know.”

“Actually, Bee,” Maggie said quickly. “That’s what I was calling about. Do you think Richie and I could come and stay with you for a little while?”

“Of course!” Bridget cried, causing Maggie to flinch and hold the phone away from her ear. “You know I always have room for family! I’ll set up the guest room for you and Shawn, and Richie can take the pull-out couch in the family room. That is, if he still fits in it, of course! He must have grown so much since I last saw him!”

“Slow down, Bridget. First of all, Shawn… won’t be with us this time.”

“You mean that bear of a husband of yours can’t take two days off to spend time with his favorite sister-in-law? What a schmuck! His loss, then. Just means more pie for us three after dinner! I swear, Shawn always hogged that pie. Every single time, I’d be serving him, what, three or four pieces? How is he? Still working with that construction company? And still no promotion, I bet. He works so hard, that Shawn, and never gets a decent reward. He –”

“I’m leaving Shawn, Bee,” Maggie blurted, cutting her sister off. “I’m leaving him, and I need to get Richie and me out of Dakota for a while.”

“Oh, Mags,” Bridget said softly. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right? How’s Richie taking it?”

“We’re both fine. We just need to have a new environment. I was hoping we could stay with you for a few weeks while I transferred Richie to the local high school and found us an apartment.”

“You are always welcome here, Maggie. Stay as long as you need.

* * *

 

 “I never did apologize to you, Virgil,” Richie said. The two boys were lying on Virgil’s bed after their pillow fight, trying to catch their breath. “For what I did at school and the Burger Fool.”

“Dude, you don’t have to apologize for all that. You were just… expressing yourself.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “That’s one way to put it. But seriously, I shouldn’t have… kissed you like that. And pushed you away when you tried to talk. It was a dick move.”

Virgil rolled onto his side to face Richie. “Well, I accept your apology, even though I think it’s unnecessary.” He paused. “Did I tell you that Daisy kissed me?”

“What?!” Richie’s eyes widened as he looked over at Virgil, who laughed.

“Yep. Tuesday during Psych.” He rolled onto his back again and put his hands behind his head nonchalantly.

“C’mon, you gotta tell the whole story. You can’t stop there.”

“We were watching a movie on cutting, ironically, and I stepped out of the room for a little bit. She followed, all worried about me, and we were talking in the hallway. One thing led to another, and her lips were on mine.” He shook his head. “Didn’t feel right though. Not with that movie on my mind and you in the hospital and her knowing that I was upset. I pushed her away and left to go to the nurse’s office.”

Richie raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You have been trying to get with that girl for months, and you push her away?”

“I dunno,” Virgil replied with a shrug. “Like I said. Didn’t feel right.”

“So that’s it? Nothing’s gonna happen with you two?”

“Maybe one day.”

“Graduation is only a few months away, Virg. Who knows if you’ll even see her again after that?”

Virgil sighed. “I know. But it’s like, with all of this happening so suddenly, everything feels… different. And I mean, I feel like I shouldn’t be one to talk, since I’m just a spectator in this whole scenario, but it’s really put things into perspective for me. Who cares if I date my high school crush or not? We all know that Daisy and I wouldn’t last for very long anyway.”

Richie snorted. “That’s for sure. Freida and I had a bet on how long you would last. Technically this means she won, since she said that you’d last a day compared to my bet of a week.”

Virgil glared at Richie. “Gee, thanks, best friend in the whole world. Nice to know you’re confident about my love life.”

“Don’t mention it, V. Glad to be part of your support system.”

They both laughed and were quiet for a moment before Virgil took a deep breath.

“Rich?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you a sort of personal question?”

“Shoot.”

Virgil bit the inside of his cheek, not really sure how to verbalize the thoughts in his head. “Remember when you came out to me?”

Richie smirked. “Vividly.”

“Well, you said there were all sorts of different… sexualities.” Virgil trailed off.

“Yes, that’s true. Why do you ask?”

He closed his eyes, feeling uncomfortable for some reason, and tried to pretend to be relaxed. “What else are there? I mean, you mentioned a few briefly, but never really went into detail.”

“Oh. Um…” Richie furrowed his brow, wondering why Virgil wanted more details. “I guess I could teach you a thing or two. You’ve got the obvious ones that everyone knows: gay, straight and bi. Lesbian is often categorized under gay, but some people prefer it to be separate, hence the whole LGBT acronym. After that it gets a little deeper. Remember how I said that gender can be fluid?”

Virgil nodded. “Yeah. Like, there isn’t just male and female, but all sorts of… things in between?”

“More or less,” Richie said with a smile. “That’s the gist of it, really. The basic premise is that while your biological sex may be assigned as male or female at birth, your gender – what you identify as in your head – can be any number of genders on the spectrum.”

“And you also said that sexuality is the same thing, right? A spectrum?”

“Mmhmm. Since the most-commonly known sexualities focus on liking males or females, a bunch more have been becoming more popular recently, due to the fact that they take both the gender and sexuality spectrums into account. Basically, you just need to learn the prefixes.”

Virgil listened intently as Richie explained how different prefixes were attached to the words “sexual” and “romantic” to be able to describe a person’s preferences in a very specific manner. He absorbed every word that came out of Richie’s mouth, and asked questions as they came up.

“And that’s about it,” Richie said as he finished up. “Between all of that, most people feel comfortably labeled. There’s always a few people who prefer to find new terms, or come up with their own terms, because they feel like none of these really describe them. My favorite was a girl who was dating an agendered person named Alex, so she called herself Alex-sexual. That was cute.”

Virgil let all the new information sink in. “There’s so much out there,” he said. “I never questioned it. I thought you had a choice of one, the other, or both. How do people even decide on a label?”

Richie shrugged. “Some people just know. Others, like me, had to experiment just a little.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, causing Richie to blush.

“Not like that, idiot. Stuff like… kissing, I guess. Lots of thinking about different things.” Richie ran his hand through his hair. “There was a boy, in junior high,” he explained softly. “He was in my math class and I’d help him with homework sometimes, remember?”

“Yeah. He moved the next year, didn’t he?”

“Well, we were at his house one day, and… well, we kissed. It was my first kiss, and it was… really nice.” Richie started at the ceiling for a moment, his eyes glazed over, before Virgil brought him back.

“You kissed a boy in junior high and never told me?” he asked, feigning offense. “How could you, Richie?”

They both laughed.

“Hey, why’d you want to know all this, anyway?” asked Richie. “I mean, I appreciate that you’re educating yourself on issues, but it seems very… out of the blue, I guess.”

“Just been thinking about it lately,” Virgil said, brushing it off. “You hungry? I’m gonna go downstairs and grab some snacks.”

“Sure. Bring me back a soda, too.”

Richie watched Virgil stand and exit the room, still wondering about the conversation they had. He had a hunch as to why Virgil was so interested, but was almost afraid to believe it was true. There was no way that Virgil was anything but straight.

No way.

* * *

 

The chair smashed against the wall with a crash and splintered into pieces. Soon, broken dishes joined the mess on the floor, along with a few pots and pans that were too durable to crack. Shawn clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes, glaring around the kitchen for his next victim. He kicked the table strongly, causing the leg to buckle. The table slanted, and the flower vase Maggie used as a centerpiece slid off and shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces on the floor.

Something had to be done about his family. This crap they were pulling was not acceptable. A wife should be loyal to her husband, no matter what. They had made vows regarding that! In sickness and in health, through better or worse. She had promised him that they would stick together, and now she’s chosen an ungrateful faggot of a son over her own husband.

Shawn took a long drink from the bottle of beer sitting on the counter, and when it was empty, he threw it at the wall before wiping his mouth obscenely with the back of his hand. He staggered into the living room and dropped to the sofa, still fuming angry.

_I’ll do whatever it takes to get them back._

* * *

 

When Virgil came back upstairs, he was trying to balance a bowl of chips and two glasses of soda without dropping anything. Richie jumped up from the bed to help, but Virgil brushed him off.

“I’ve got this, thanks. Your mom wanted you downstairs.”

“All right. Pick a movie or something, but wait for me to get back.”

“You got it.”

Richie left the room and went downstairs, where Maggie was sitting in the living room. She was writing in a notebook and seemed intensely focused.

“What’s up, mom?” Richie asked, jolting her from her concentration. “Virgil said you wanted me?”

Maggie put her notebook down on the coffee table and patted the couch next to her, inviting Richie to sit. He did. “Richie,” she started. “I’ve set up for you and me to go Aunt Bridget’s for a little while.”

Richie’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Why? We haven’t seen her in years. And I have school. Doesn’t seem very logical to go all the way to Minnesota for just the weekend.”

“We’re going to stay with her, Richie,” Maggie said carefully. “Until we can get back on our feet. There’s a lovely high school only a mile from her house, and it has wonderful science and math programs.”

“What?!” Richie felt the air leave his lungs as his eyes widened. “No. No way! I don’t want to move! I’m not leaving Dakota!”

“It’s for the best, honey.”

“Maybe for you! I have friends here, mom. Virgil and Freida and Daisy. You expect me to just up and leave everything behind? I’m almost done with high school. I have to protect –” Richie cut himself off. It had been years since he had begun protecting Dakota as Gear, but he had never quite gotten the nerve to tell his mom.

“You have to protect what, sweetie?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t care what you say. I’m not going.”

Maggie sighed. “We can’t stay here, Richie. You know as well as I do that it’s too dangerous. At Bridget’s we’ll be able to rest and start a new life for ourselves. You’ll make new friends, I know you will. And it’s not like you’ll never talk to Virgil and the others. You can write letters and call each other all the time.”

She reached out to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he held up his hands and moved away. “Please don’t touch me right now,” he said with a slight waver in his voice. “I’m not going, and that’s that. Now, I’m going to go upstairs and I don’t want to talk to you right now.” Richie stood up and stalked away before Maggie could get another word out. He stormed up the stairs and slammed the door behind him in Virgil’s room, whose eyes widened when he saw how upset Richie was.

“What happened down there?”

Richie took a deep breath to try to calm down. “She wants us to move to Minnesota and I said no,” he stated simply, and then walked over to the bed and sat down next to Virgil. “What movie did you pick?”

“What’s in Minnesota anyway that’s so important to her?”

Richie held up a hand to quiet him. “What movie?”

“Richie…”

“Virgil. What movie?”

With a sigh, Virgil pressed play on the remote control, and the credits for one of their favorite monster movies began to scroll across the screen. Richie stared straight ahead, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, and no matter how many times Virgil tried to talk to him, his words were ignored.

This wasn’t going to end well.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Description of self harm injuries, vague talk of suicide, use of homophobic slurs/insults.

Richie woke on Sunday morning to the sound of the news playing softly. Virgil was already awake, eyes glued to the television screen.

_“…And with half of Dakota’s beloved crime-fighting duo missing for over a week, the city is left wondering where exactly Gear is, and whether or not we’ll ever see him again. I’m Shelly Sandoval, and this is–”_

The TV clicked off and Virgil, muttering under his breath, threw the remote at a pillow in frustration.

“If only she knew how close Gear is to leaving forever,” Richie said, startling Virgil, whose hands sparked with electricity instinctively.

“Jesus, Richie!” he cried. “I didn’t even know you were awake. Warn a guy next time, will ya?” Virgil sighed and rubbed his forehead. “And you’re not moving. No way.”

Richie got up from his mattress on the floor and began to get dressed. “Well, even so, it’ll still be a while before I’m out there because you don’t think I can handle it,” he stated bitterly as he pulled off his shirt. Virgil ignored the comment and went over to stop him from pulling on a clean top.

“Hey, wait. Let me see how these are doing.”

Richie rolled his eyes, but held his arms out. Virgil gently peeled the bandages off to reveal the injured skin beneath. The eleven shallow cuts were healing nicely, and the week-old cut still had black stitches that contrasted sharply with the pale skin. The burn on his right arm only had two days of healing and still looked painful, but didn’t seem like it would cause too much trouble.

“Looks all right to me,” Virgil said. “When are you going to get those stitches out?”

Richie shrugged. “I think I’m supposed to go in on Wednesday, but I’ll just take them out myself. I’ve done it before, it’s no big deal.”

Virgil flinched slightly and let go of Richie’s arm. He didn’t want to know the story behind those stitches. “I’ve got a proposition for you,” Virgil said, leaning against the wall. Richie raised an eyebrow in response, but continued to get dressed. “Tomorrow morning, you and I head out on patrol. Fight some Bang Babies, sit on the clock tower, come up with new one-liners. The usual.” Virgil held up a hand, seeing that Richie was about to interrupt. “But you can’t hurt yourself for the whole day. None of it. No hair pulling, cutting, scratching, burning. We’ll see how it goes and take it from there. Work our way back up to full time patrolling, okay?”

“Deal,” Richie said with a smile. “No problemo. Can do, V.”

* * *

The dinner table at the Hawkins house was quickly growing more and more crowded. With five people seated around the small surface, elbows often bumped and placemats overlapped. The extra people would normally mean more friendly conversation, but considering the recent events, the table was silent. Save for a few idle comments about the food, of course.

Maggie cleared her throat. “Robert,” she said, “I wanted to thank you again for offering your home to Richie and I. It’s been a wonderful help to us.”

“Of course, Maggie. It was the only way I would have it. Our house is always open to friends.”

“Well, we appreciate it more than words can say. And I wanted to let you know that this will only be temporary. I have arrangements for Richie to finish out this week of school and then he and I are going to my sister’s in Minnesota.”

“I said I wasn’t going,” Richie interjected quietly. “And there’s nothing you can do to force me to go.”

Maggie pursed her lips. “Richie, now is not the time for this conversation. We’ll talk about this later.”

“You two are welcome to stay as long as you need,” Robert said, hoping to diffuse the tension. “There’s no need to leave so soon. We have plenty of room here for you to stay until the end of the school year so Richie can graduate with his class.”

“Daddy’s right, Mrs. Foley,” Sharon said. “If it makes it easier, I could even stay with Adam for a while so no one has to sleep in the living room.”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Maggie insisted. “We’ll be leaving this Friday, after school. That will give us enough time to wrap things up here and say our goodbyes.”

“I’m not saying goodbye,” Richie said plainly. “I’m not leaving, and that’s that.” He shoved his chair back and stood up. “I’m not going with you, mom. I’m staying in Dakota.” Richie walked out of the dining room and the remaining people could hear his footsteps retreat upstairs.

“Virgil,” Robert said, “go talk to him. Make sure he’s all right.” Virgil nodded and slipped out of the room, leaving the three alone. Robert turned to Maggie and sighed. “Believe me, I am not normally one to question the decisions of another parent. I understand that each person has their own ways of communicating with their children, but I hope you don’t mind me giving my opinion. Richie has been through a lot in the past week. No child should have to have to deal with so much chaos. Perhaps you would consider staying in Dakota for at least the semester, if not the full school year. I understand that June is a long way away from November, but it might do the boy some good to be around familiar faces while he’s trying to get better.”

Maggie was quiet for a moment as she processed Robert’s words. “Thank you. I appreciate your input, but I still think that Richie and I should leave. With Shawn here, I–”

“Forget about him!” Sharon interjected, causing the two adults to turn and look at her. She cringed. “Sorry, but taking Richie away isn’t going to do any good. If you’re lucky, he’ll stick to cutting and be miserable. But there’s a good possibility that it will be too much and he’ll just get worse.” She stood up and pushed her chair in. “I know it’s not my place to say anything. I know that I’m just a naïve kid to you guys. But I care about Richie just as much as I care about Virgil, and I’m not going to let him leave.” Sharon turned to leave, but paused in front of the door. “Mrs. Foley, I know you love Richie. We all do. Just please make the right choice. Or else we all might lose him.”

* * *

 

The next morning, true to his word, Virgil woke Richie at 4am.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead. We’ve got a city to protect.”

With a note on the fridge claiming a before-school cram session for a first period test, the two made their way to the Gas Station to suit up. When Richie entered, however, he froze. All he could see was the flecks of blood still on the wall from when he was punching it, or the exact spot where he knew Virgil had found him that night, or the Bunsen burner that had been hastily shoved to the side as the two left that day. He saw all the hiding places that he used to have blades and knives, but no longer did. It seemed like everything in the headquarters only reminded him of what he wasn’t allowed to do anymore.

“Richie?” Virgil asked quietly. “You okay, dude? If it’s too much we can head home.”

Richie shook his head to clear it and took a deep breath. “No… No, I’m fine.” He pulled his uniform out of a drawer in his desk and took a step towards the bathroom. Again, he froze.

“How about you change in here,” Virgil suggested, “And I’ll grab the bathroom, all right?” He waited for Richie’s slow nod before retreating to change.

After a few minutes they were both suited up and getting ready to fly. Gear saved Backpack for last. With a determined stature, Gear looked at the gadget that had been gathering dust on his desk. “Backpack,” he commanded. “Up.”

There was a moment of tension as Gear wondered whether or not his powers had returned enough to communicate with Backpack, but, sure enough, it whirred to life and crawled its way up his back. The weight on his shoulders was reassuring as he turned to look at Static.

“Ready to go?”

* * *

“I swear, Virgil, you are terrible at one-liners! It’s a miracle you came up with your ‘shock to the system’ one on your own.” Richie laughed and playfully punched Virgil in the shoulder. They were sitting atop the clock tower, just like they planned. The patrol had been easy; the only mischief to be found had been Carmendillo trying to steal some poor girl’s purse. They had flown around for a while before retreating to their favorite look-out spot before class started.

“Aw, c’mon, this coming from the guy who shouted, ‘There’s help from above when Push comes to shove!’ Really, Richie? That was the best you could come up with?”

“Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Never, man. That’s gonna be over your head forever.” Virgil smiled and looked out over the city. “It really is beautiful up here, isn’t it? With the sun just barely out and the fog still settled everywhere.”

Richie leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “That’s for sure. No way am I giving up this view for stupid Minnesota.”

“That’s the spirit,” Virgil replied. He pulled his mask back over his eyes and unfolded his disk. “Now let’s get going, unless you want to be late for Spanish again.”

Richie groaned as he pulled his visor over his head. “No way, man. Ms. Gonzalez scares the hell out of me. I am not enduring her evil stare across the entire classroom again.”

Static laughed as the two took to the skies and flew towards the high school, where they discreetly ducked into an alley to change into their street clothes. With five minutes before the first bell, they made their way inside. As they pushed their way through the crowded halls, they noticed something amiss. A huge group of kids had gathered around their neighboring lockers.

Virgil pushed his way through the crowd, with Richie close behind. When they got close enough to see what the fuss was all about, though, Richie immediately wished they had stayed on the clock tower. Written in thick, black marker, with huge letters, were the words, “Emo fag,” along with a couple crudely-drawn depictions of genitalia and nooses. The word had obviously gotten out.

Richie’s vision swam. He could hear the students around him whispering and laughing. One voice rang out clearly, “You gonna go cut yourself, faggot? Don’t forget, it’s down the road, not across the street!” Richie’s heart hammered in his chest and his hands began to shake. Virgil was saying something to him, but he couldn’t understand the words. Eventually, he saw Virgil grab his arm – gently, taking care to not hurt him – and start dragging him away from the crowd. The voices could still be heard as they walked away: “Careful, Hawkins! He might try to jump you!” “Yeah, you wouldn’t want to catch the gay!” “Yo, Foley, I hear there’s a razor sale at the hardware store!”

As they got farther away, the laughter faded in the distance, but it didn’t stop Richie’s panic.

“Richie. Come on, Richie, look at me,” Virgil begged. He reached out and put his hands on either side of Richie’s face, forcing him to focus. “Deep breaths, all right? With me. In and out.” They took a couple breaths together, and Virgil could feel Richie shaking fiercely the whole time. Eventually, though, Richie found he was able to think again.

“Virgil,” he said shakily. “Virgil, they know. They know everything. How do they know? Who told them? I don’t… I don’t know. I didn’t–”

“Shh. It doesn’t matter right now. We just have to get you calm, all right?”

The harsh sound of the bell rang out from a speaker right above their heads, causing Richie to flinch violently. His eyes darted around the corridor, looking for any students that might pose a threat. “Virgil, I’m freaking out here. I can’t do this. I know I promised you, but I don’t… I can’t…”

Virgil moved his hands to Richie’s shoulders, which he gripped firmly. “Yes, you can, Richie. They’re just a bunch of douchebags. We’ve known that for years. So what if they heard some rumors? It doesn’t mean they have to know if they’re true or not.”

Richie felt tears welling up in his eyes and he let out a quiet whine. “I just – I need to do it, V. Please.” He leaned against the wall behind him and slowly slid to the ground, pulling his knees into his chest. Virgil sat facing him, hands still on his shoulders. The tears quickly began to fall. “Oh, God,” Richie moaned. “They know everything. They know, they know, they know…” His hands tried to make their way to pull at his hair, but Virgil gently wrapped his own around Richie’s wrists.

“Come on, Richie. You’ve got to calm down. I know it’s hard, but being like this only makes it worse.”

Richie shook his head haltingly. “N-no, I can’t.” His fingers twitched, aching for some form of release, but he didn’t try to pull from Virgil’s grasp.

They stayed there for a while, with Virgil holding Richie’s wrists and helping count his breaths to even his breathing out. Eventually, Virgil let go and moved to sit next to Richie, who leaned into him eagerly. Virgil wrapped an arm around his shoulders and they sat there, not saying much, just letting Richie calm down.

“How are you feeling?” Virgil asked after a long while.

“Better,” replied Richie, his voice weak. “Still kind of freaking out, but it’s manageable now.”

Virgil squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “Good. Still want to cut?”

Richie shook his head. “No. Thank you, Virgil.”

“It’s what I’m here for, dude.”

“No, seriously. It’s been a long time since I’ve made it through an urge that strong without giving in. I… I honestly don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there.” Richie looked at the floor and closed his eyes. “I would have made all of their assumptions come true. I would have just been some emo freak, I guess.”

“Listen to me.” Virgil reached over and gently lifted Richie’s chin so that they were eye-to-eye. “You are not a freak. You’re my best friend, Richie, and I wouldn’t change that for anything.”

“Why?” Richie asked quietly. “Why do you even bother? I mean, it’s never been easy to be my friend. I’m stubborn and I get angry easily and I’m mentally instable. I mean, just because we were friends when we were young, doesn’t mean that you have to stay through all of this. You can leave. It’s all right.” As Richie continued to talk, Virgil could feel tears slowly making their way down his cheeks. “I wouldn’t blame you. Between kissing you and this whole cutting thing, I’ve probably fucked things up to the point of no return. If you wanted to just forget about everything… It’s okay…”

Virgil wiped his face and took a deep breath. “Don’t you dare say that shit again, okay? I am not leaving. I never will. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.” He smiled sadly. “You haven’t fucked things up. And yeah, maybe you’re stubborn and angry and instable, but you know what? So am I. You’ve seen how many times I’ve lashed out. At you, at Pops, at Sharon. And after my mom died?” Virgil shook his head. “I was a mess. But you were there for me. And now I’m going to be here for you. So don’t you try to spin it around like that. We’re gonna get through this, okay? You and me. Together.”

Richie looked up and the two locked eyes. Then, suddenly, Richie reached out and pulled Virgil into a tight embrace. “Together.”


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: None

"Yeah, Mom, I got it," said Richie with a roll of his eyes. He pinned his phone between his ear and his shoulder and leaned in close to his desk, gently tightening a miniscule screw on his latest project. "I'm all packed, and as soon as I get done with finals, Virgil and I are heading out. The drive'll take about a day and a half, maybe two days if we take it easy, and we should hit Minnesota by Saturday night or Sunday morning."

_"Make it Sunday morning, mister, so I know you guys drive safe."_

"Of course, ma. I'll talk to you later, okay? I've gotta go meet Virgil. Love you!"

They said their goodbyes and Richie turned off his desk lamp. He grabbed his backpack and left, making sure to lock the door to his dorm room behind him. He made his way across the Dakota University campus, feeling the warmth of the summer sun on his skin. It was the end of his freshman year, and finals week had just started. He was done for the day, however, and was eager to relax. He met up with Virgil, who was waiting in the parking lot.

"Hey, man, how'd your final go?" Richie asked, causing Virgil to grimace.

"Gonna be a close one," he said as they climbed into Virgil's car. "I mean, I studied my butt off, but man, that professor should have been fired twenty years ago!"

"I know what you mean," said Richie over the sound of Virgil starting the engine and pulling out of the lot. "My physics professor last semester hardly taught us anything. I ended up teaching the other students the material during our study groups."

Virgil chuckled. "Well, no surprise there, braniac," he teased.

"I'll have you know there is no sign of Braniac in this brain, thank you very much. Been there, done that, didn't like it."

The two nineteen-year-olds bantered back and forth as they drove, quickly arriving at the Hawkins' residence.

"Hello, family, I am home!" Richie shouted jokingly as he burst in he front door. Sharon jumped up from her seat on the couch and shushed him violently.

"Richard Osgood Foley, Adam _just_ got Jenna to sleep, and if you wake her up, your behind is toast, mister!"

Richie put his hands up in surrender. "Sorry," he whispered, just as the sound of a baby crying came from upstairs. Sharon glared daggers at Richie before turning in a huff and climbing the stairs.

* * *

Dinner that night was warm and inviting. Sharon and Adam put Jenna's high chair between them and took turns feeding her baby food and mashed potatoes from their plates. Richie and Virgil ate two helpings each, which was expected of them, and Robert had prepared in advance by making extra. There was lots of laughter and jokes being cracked in between the mandatory questions about school and work. By the time the plates were cleared away, everyone had a smile on their face and over-full stomachs.

Robert stood and pulled a cheesecake from the fridge. It was store-bought, nothing fancy, but he set it down on the table carefully and smacked Virgil's hand away when he tried to reach for it.

"I wanted to say a few words first," he said before sitting back down. "We've been through a lot over the past year. Sharon, Adam, I know it's been rough with Jenna. It was a long nine months -- for everyone." He smiled and the boys chuckled as Sharon rolled her eyes. "But now you have a beautiful baby girl that you're doing wonderful things with. And you two," he said, turning to Richie and Virgil. "What a way to begin your college careers. Straight As across the board in both semesters. All while keeping up with patrols. I'm proud of you. Both of you."

"Thanks Mr. H," Richie said sincerely. "That means a lot."

"I know it does, son," Robert said, smiling. "And I am especially proud of you, Richie. You stuck to your guns. You managed to thrive this school year, even with your mother in Minnesota and you in the dorms. You didn't let that get to you, and I want to commend you on a job well done."

Richie blinked back a few tears, moved by the kind words from this parental figure. "I... I don't know what to say. Thank you."

Robert smiled and nodded, no more words needing to be said.

"Well," Virgil said, "Not that that wasn't _touching_ and all, but how about we dig in? This cheesecake looks like it belongs in my stomach."

The famly laughed and began to reach towards the cake when Richie spoke up.

"Actually," he said, "I, um... wanted to share something." When everyone looked at him expectantly, he took a deep breath and looked at his hands. "As of about three hours ago... I have officially gone a full year without cutting."

Virgil threw an arm around Richie's shoulders as everyone began to spout their congrats. Richie looked up from his hands, his face red, and took in the faces around him. They were all full of pride and happiness, and it looked like Sharon even had a few tears in her eyes. They were all talking over one another, not being able to contain the excitement. Robert happily started slicing the cheesecake, and handed Richie the first slice. As they ate their dessert, Richie couldn't help but feel completely and truly happy.

* * *

The boys had been looking forward to their road trip for weeks. They were visiting Richie's mom and aunt in Minnesota, but were planning on taking their time and seeing the sights, including a trip to Niagara Falls and a short trek into Canada before crossing back into the States. They had briefly considered simply flying to make things easier, but Virgil insisted that the trip would be fun.

It was about halfway through their trek, and Virgil and Richie were standing side-by-side on Terrapin Point, on the U.S. side of the Horseshoe Falls. They both gripped the railing tightly, the dull roar of the water echoing around them and the cool mist leaving droplets on Richie's glasses. The sight was breathtaking, and neither of them could find words to describe it as they stood there, taking the sight in.

Eventually, Richie broke their silence. "It's amazing," he whispered. "All this power. All the energy both used and created here. Makes you feel kind of small, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Virgil said, shaking his head in disbelief at the grandeur. "Makes you feel real small."

They stood for another minute, and then Virgil reached into his pocket. He pulled out an old, worn Ziploc bag and held it out to Richie, who took it in his hands. Inside the bag were the blades that he had given Virgil over a year and a half ago, that night at the Gas Station.

"You kept this?" Richie asked.

Virgil nodded. "I thought it should be you who got rid of them. And now that it's been a whole year? I think now is as good a time as any."

Richie stared at Virgil, unable to believe that he had kept the bag for so long. He pulled Virgil into a tight embrace. "I couldn't have done this without you, V," he said softly. He pulled away, but left his hands on Virgil's shoulders. "I put you through a lot, and I've apologized so many times for that. But I honestly don't know where I'd be without you."

"Me too, Richie," Virgil said with a smile. "Now let's get rid of these blades, huh?"

Grinning, Richie nodded and took a step back from the railing. He took one last look at the tools he once used to cause himself so much pain, before throwing them as hard and as far as he could into the river. The two leaned on the rail to watch the bag quickly disappear down the falls.

Virgil put his arm around Richie's shoulders. "I'm proud of you. So fucking proud." Richie leaned his head on Virgil's shoulder, who blushed. "Listen, Richie, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about."

Richie stood and turned to face Virgil. "What's up?"

"I..." he locked eyes with Richie. "I think I might be in love with you."

There was the tiniest moment of silence before Richie leaned forward and pressed their lips together. This time, instead of tensing up, Virgil let himself enjoy it. His eyes slid closed and he wrapped his arms around Richie's neck. The kiss was tender and chaste, but both boys were lost in it. Eventually, their lips parted and they leaned their foreheads together.

Richie smiled. "You don't know how long I've been wanting to hear that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we have it. The end! I know uploading it here on AO3 was an afterthought of mine, and it was always like 4 or 5 chapters in bursts every few months, but I've been getting some wonderful comments! Thanks so much for reading!!!


	22. Fun Facts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is just a quick page of fun facts that I put together for the story. "Fun facts" range from plot bunnies that never got inserted to random stuff that I feel fits the story.
> 
> It might be cool to re-read the whole fic as you read the notes if you want, but if you've got a good memory, you might be able to follow along well. I tried to make it easy to read, even without re-reading.

**Chapter 1**

Richie walked out into a rainy night, symbolizing the trauma and emotional turmoil that he was about to go through over the next few weeks.

At the beginning, Richie had been talking to his mom quietly about possibly asking Virgil to prom, just as friends. Shawn overheard, and that's what prompted the big fight.

Richie had kept a partially-packed suitcase ready to go ever since the events of "Sons of our Fathers"

**Chapter 3**

As soon as Robert saw a glimpse of bandage during dinner, he had a hunch as to what was going on.

Virgil asked his last question during 20 questions ("Does it work?") because he almost resorted to cutting when his mother died. He never did it, though, but still had that lingering curiosity.

**Chapter 5**

That wasn't the last time Virgil had that nightmare about Richie killing himself. It was a recurring dream that lasted another two years.

When Richie closes his ears and hums loudly to prevent a panic attack, it's the first time he'd used that coping technique since he was around 12 or 13, when he first started having them.

**Chapter 6**

When Robert and the boys had their talk during the night, there were surprisingly few tears shed. Richie was too tired and drained to cry, and Virgil was simply furious at Shawn.

**Chapter 7**

Richie laughing at the movie they're watching together on the "Normal Day," was the first instance of Virgil realizing he might have feelings for Richie.

**Chapter 8**

The thing that really set Richie off and got him yelling at Maggie was her saying that Shawn can't help what he does. She had said that Richie's entire life, and this was what put him over the edge.

The ending of the chapter, with Virgil taking Richie's glasses off and curling up to sleep on the floor next to the couch was another reminder of just how much Virgil cares for him.

**Chapter 9**

Maggie had only visited the Hawkins' house once before, and that had resulted in a broken arm from Shawn.

Liz Anderson was meant to be a much bigger character, but I could never fit her in too much. The receptionist that Robert talked to a few chapters back, Janice, was also supposed to show up periodically, but she only made 2 appearances.

**Chapter 10**

Just like Liz, all my notes on this story abbreviate characters' names to their first initial.

Virgil has seen 2 therapists before Liz. The first being a grief counselor at the center after his mother died, and the second was the counselor brought to the school after Jimmy shot Richie. Both counselors had the nasty habit of repeating "And how did that make you feel?" over and over, leading to his hesitation about trusting Liz.

When Virgil asked, "What if he actually killed himself?" he was hoping that Liz's answer would be to reassure him that Richie wouldn't do that. Her silence only confirmed his fears that it might really happen one day.

Richie's hesitation in promising Virgil that he would never kill himself stems from his fear of worthlessness. He's afraid that one day Virgil won't care about him anymore, and then Richie will have nothing holding him back from suicide except this promise. (Yes, all that happened in one ellipses. I am the author. #yolo)

**Chapter 11**

It took a while for the workers at the Burger Fool to realize something was wrong. It was a customer who spotted the blood seeping from underneath the door and informed the employees.

**Chapter 12**

Sharon had only seen Virgil in such a state of shock a few times before, one of which was at their mother's funeral.

**Chapter 13**

What Richie's feeling when he says everything is a dream is called dissociation. It presents in many different ways, some of which include "blacking out," feeling like you're on autopilot, or a floating feeling. Often, a good way to bring someone back from a dissociative episode is gentle stimulation of the senses, such as a massage like Virgil does, or a friendly scent like lotion. If you're in this situation, make sure you ask the person if it's okay to touch them, because some people don't like being touched while they're dissociating.

**Chapter 14**

If Virgil were to ask me about his sexuality, I'd suggest he look into either demisexual or bi/pansexual, since bi/pan people can definitely be 90% attracted to one gender and only 10% attracted to all other genders!

Ivan still self harms occasionally to this day. He tried to break the habit, but now that his jet-black skin doesn't show the marks like before the Big Bang, he's given himself some nasty wounds.

**Chapter 15**

Henry the counselor was also planned to be a bigger character, but never showed up after this.

**Chapter 16**

When Maggie was gathering her things, Robert managed to keep his cool, but was fuming the entire time. It wasn't until she left the room to get Richie's stuff that he really let loose and gave Shawn a piece of his mind.

In contrast to Richie's exit from the Foley house in chapter 1, Maggie steps out into the sunlight, symbolizing her freedom from the abuse. While Richie's exit was filled with anger, Maggie's was filled with relief.

The tactic that Daisy is subconsciously using is called "signifying." That means that she's using Virgil's name frequently in the conversation in order to make him feel validated and loved. Unfortunately, she's using it a bit _too_ much, which can make people feel like they're being attacked or looked down upon. Daisy should have paid a little more attention when they learned that in Psychology.

**Chapter 18**

Okay, this is the easter egg that I'm most proud of. I had planned on turning it into a huge plot arc, but, as you can see, it never happened. Abigail the therapist, with the brown hair and light hazel eyes is actually Gail aka Nightengale from the Night Breed. I had planned on taking the plot down to the Night Breed, where our duo would see that Nightengale was no longer with the team. She had split once the cure was released and continued her schooling from where she left off before the Big Bang, studying to be a therapist for troubled teens. That's why her voice sounds familiar to Richie, but Abigail didn't recognize him out of costume. I WAS SO EXCITED I CAME UP WITH THIS AND IT NEVER HAPPENED. I even had an OC to take her place in the Night Breed. Oh well!

Richie's complete 180 regarding recovering was mostly brought on by his mother's plans to return back to Shawn. That knowledge caused Richie to give up in his recovery.

**Chapter 19**

I think Bridget might be my favorite OC in this story, with her fast-paced speech and calling Shawn a "shmuck." This woman is wonderful.

**Chapter 20**

For anyone who hadn't put two and two together, it was definitely Daisy who let the cat out of the bag. She didn't do it out of malice, of course, but when Freida asked if she knew anything about Richie, of course Daisy told her best friend. And Freida felt that Nina should know, since she was friends with Richie, too, and the story spread from there.

**Epilogue**

Richie managed to convince Maggie to let him live with the Hawkins once Shawn was arrested. He was convicted of first degree assault and sentenced to 12 years in prison. (Disclaimer: I am not a lawyer. I googled this. If any of you _are_ a lawyer, feel free to let me know what he would actually be convicted of and what his sentence would be. xD)

Sharon and Adam named their daughter Jenna as a tribute to Jean Hawkins.

As you can infer from the epilogue, Richie didn't officially stop cutting until another seven months after the last chapter! Chapter 20 ended in November, and the epilogue takes place the next June. Poor Richie went the rest of his senior year cutting, but with Virgil's help, he slowly got a handle on his addiction.

I spent, like, an hour researching Niagara Falls and the surrounding area and now I really want to visit it and I blame these boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the official end! It was a wild couple years for me, writing this, and I'm glad to have finally gotten through it. Once again, thanks for reading!!


End file.
